


The Odd Death of Michelle Von Emster

by icantwritegood



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: FUCK, I'm already back on that bullshit, a bit of violence here and there, and i havent even finished my previous bullshits, but they'll become friends e v e n t u a l l y, i told myself id never write shyan, i'd advise watching the appropriate ep, idk yet either, if it does become shyan it'll be slow burn tfuck, is it normal tension, oh no, or is it TENSION tension if ya know what I mean, ryan and shane are rivals in this, skeptic vs believer still goin strong, when they both stop being dickheads, yeah it became shyan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-14 03:40:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12999078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwritegood/pseuds/icantwritegood
Summary: Ryan Bergara is the head detective of Major Crime Investigations, renowned for his thorough research and occasionally wacky theories. Shane Madej is the head detective of Forensics, renowned for his accurate findings and generally shitty attitude. Due to multiple past discrepancies, they tend to avoid each other.Too bad that a seemingly unsolvable murder has piqued both their interests.





	1. Von Emster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The body arrives, and brings with it a whole new level of bullshittery.

 

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time. Yeah, I'm just outside. I _know_ I'm a bit late, only like, five minutes, Sara! The body won't rot just because I'm five minutes late!" Shane pushed open the door with his shoulder, phone in one hand, coffee in the other. "Listen, I'm _here_. Calm down. Just prep my stuff."

He hung up with a bit more force than necessary, glowering at his phone. God, his assistant was a bit _too_ eager to look at dead bodies. He rubbed his tired eyes under his glasses, fixing his tie around his neck as he made his way through the bustling office; it was half four in the morning, but the whole office had turned up to see this dead woman. He rolled his eyes as he wove through his excited colleagues; dead bodies were dead bodies, for God's sake. Just because it was apparently missing a leg didn't mean it was going to be a special case.

"Hey, Shane, you heard about the bod-"

"I'm the head of Forensics, Brent," he replied dryly as he passed by. "I know about the stupid body."

Down a flight of stairs and into the dark medical examiner's office. To the right, a small room, in which sat his desk and other boring shit. Straight in front of him was what he was looking for, however. The not-so-boring shit.

"What was the rush for?" Shane circled the pale body on the shiny metal table, taking a leisurely sip of coffee. "It's just another dead body."

"Yeah, but she's missing a leg."

This was true. "And?"

"Come on, Shane." Rubin pointed directly at the, well, at the space where the leg _used_ to be. The bone was splintered, sharp. "When did you ever see anything like that?"

Shane shrugged. "Well, never, I guess. I've never seen a death by a shark before."

"Why a shark?" She blinked. "You jumped on that pretty quickly."

"Yeah, well look." He pointed at the relevant spaces as he rattled off what he could see. "Large wounds, tearing ones. Bites, most definitely. Missing tissue. That's a shark, baby. Bruises. Scrapes. Sand in her mouth."  He put his coffee down, pulling on a pair of thin blue gloves. "And I'd bet my _own_ right leg that there's more sand in her lungs. And maybe her stomach, since she, y'know, drowned."

She picked up a scalpel, shaking her head fondly at him. "We'll find out soon enough, I guess."

"From what I can tell," he continued, standing at the head of the examining table, one plastic gloved hand on his hip, the other holding his coffee. "She was attacked by said shark, killed, brought down to the bottom of the ocean and- Hey, look." He poked at the base of her skull, squinting at the movement of the bone under the pale skin. "A broken neck too. She got bashed off the bottom of the ocean where she swallowed sand and got her neck snapped. Now she's here. Sort of. The end."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Alright, Sherlock. I'll look into some of that now."

"Yeah. You do that." He rubbed his temple as she began cutting, sighing heavily. "My head's goddamn pounding. We got any painkillers down here?"

"For some reason, no, we don't," she replied distractedly, her eyes glued to the body as she continued dissecting. "Check up in the kitchen."

"Ugh, but that's- Oh, fine. Whatever."

He took the steps back up to the ground floor two at a time, strolling along the corridor. People were gaping at him, openly staring, as if he was some sort of celebrity. He gave them a tight smile as he passed by, a smile that clearly implied that he would tolerate their stares, but not their questions. He flicked on the lights in the small kitchenette, crossing the room to the medicine cabinet. Maybe he'd make another coffee, since he was up here. Screw it, he'd hauled his ass in here for what turned out to be nothing special. Might as well treat himself.

"You don't have enough medical shit in your dingy office?"

Shane paused, half-turning to throw a look at the head of Major Crime, box of painkillers in hand. "Why are you even in this early, Bergara? Just to annoy me?"

"I don't know if this is a surprise to you, but I actually work here too."

"Oh, I'm _very_ much aware of that."

The man stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, a pose which he seemed to be particularly fond of. "At least bother taking your gloves off next time. Do you have any idea how unhygienic that is?"

Shane tugged off his gloves, crossing over to the bin and dropping them in with just a little bit of attitude. "No, Ryan. I, the head of Forensics, have no idea about hygiene. Any other bright questions?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just leave the painkillers up here, yeah?"

"Just for your snide comments, I think I'll take them with me."

"Yeah, why don't you pop twelve while you're at it."

Damn. Damn, that was a good comeback. He narrowed his eyes at the back of Ryan's head as the man turned back to the corridor, strolling off back to Major Crimes. What an absolute tool. Shane took the foil packets out of the box of painkillers, leaving the empty box in the medicine cabinet. Bergara may have had the last word, but he'd have the last laugh.

"Am I right yet?" he asked as he returned to the examination room. "Shark? I want to write up that autopsy report so I can shove it down Bergara's throat and let him choke on it."

"Yikes, dude. Intense." She threw him a concerned look, attempting to roll up her sleeves without using her gloved, bloodied hands. "Anyway, yeah. It looks like you're right. There's sand in her stomach and lungs. I haven't gotten around to much else yet." 

"Right, how about I finish this off, and you start writing up the report." He pulled on another pair of gloves, staring down at the opened body in front of him. Grisly, yes. Out of the ordinary for him, no. "Yep, definitely a shark. I've seen Jaws at least six times, I know what I'm talking about."

* * *

 

She'd last been seen at 8pm. Her body was found on the rocks down on the beach. She'd been naked, a bit chewed up, it seemed. But why would someone go swimming in a rocky part of the ocean at midnight? He checked the average temperature; 59 degrees. The air would've been 57. It didn't make sense, unless she was a crazy woman. His quick background check didn't bring up anything out of the ordinary, though.

Ryan put down his own report, picking up the autopsy one. He squinted at the tiny letters, brow knitted. He was 90% certain Madej wrote so stupidly small on purpose, just to piss him off. Leaning back in his chair, he opened his drawer, taking out a small magnifying glass. He'd invested in it a while ago for this purpose exactly, so that he wouldn't have to keep going down and asking Madej what his report said. Somehow, the guy just made him feel like a total illiterate whenever he had to do so. Not anymore, Madej. Not anymore.

A curly-haired head passed by the office in front of him, purple locks bouncing.

"Hey! Hey, Sara!" Ryan hopped to his feet, waving at her through the glass.

"Yeah?" She popped her head in his door, eyebrows raised. "What's up?"

"Can you translate this scrawl for me?" he asked, handing her the report. "It's honestly like another language."

She squinted at it, a slight frown on her face. "Huh. He must've rewritten my one. I didn't write anything under Height, I just ticked- oh, wait. Nevermind."

Ryan glanced at her, then at the page. "What? What is it?"

"Nothing, I just gotta-"

"Let me see it." He snatched it off her, narrowing his eyes at the box. " _Height: five foot six."_ He sighed heavily before reading out the next bit. " _For exact measurement, add five foot to Ryan Bergara's current height_."

Sara made an awkward face, almost apologetic. "I didn't know he wrote anything on it. I-"

"Will you just give this to him for me?" Ryan took a pencil off his desk, promptly snapping it in half and handing it to her. "Say that if he annotates anymore reports, his neck will look like this pencil."

"Yeah... I'm not getting involved." She backed out of the room, waving a goodbye. "See you later. I gotta go talk to some marine biologists."

"Huh?" He followed her to the door, arms folded across his chest. "Why?"

"Well, Shane's never actually seen a death caused by a shark before," she replied flippantly, heading off down the corridor. "So I'm being sent off to the very exciting Marine Wildlife Center to make sure he's right."

He could already feel the gears turning in his head. "Cool. Have fun." _Because I'm certainly going to_.

He'd have to act fast, though. Before Sara could get back. He swiped the autopsy report off his desk, hurrying across the office towards the stairs. Oh, he couldn't wait to rub this in Shane's face.

"Yo, Ryan! Where you off to?" Steven rolled out of his cubicle on his chair, spinning ever so slightly as he did so. "You seem very excited. Off to rub Shane's nose in something?"

Ryan grinned at him as he passed, lifting up the autopsy report and waving it. "I've struck gold this time, Lim. I'm gonna rub Shane's face in this so hard his stupid pointy nose will go right through it."

"Yeah! Go Ryan!"

He bumped into Shane coming up the stairs, raising a hand for him to stop. "Oh hey, Shane. Have a minute?"

Shane threw him a suspicious look as he ignored the raised hand, continuing on up the stairs. The gloves on his hands were shiny with blood. "What do you want, you absolute flea?"

"I just have a question for you."

"I'll just go ahead and assume that it's stupid and a waste of my time." Shane continued walking, not even looking back at him as he spoke. "Don't go into my office, by the way. You have to be at least five foot to enter."

Ryan simply smiled; oh, how he was going to enjoy this sweet, sweet moment. "I'm just curious. How did you know it was a shark who killed Von Emster if you've, uh, never seen a death caused by a shark?"

The head of Forensics slowly came to a stop on the stairs. He glanced up the steps, as if to check no one was there, before turning to look back down at him. "How do you know about that?"

"Doesn't matter. What matters is that you're jumping to conclusions when you have no right to be."

Shane came back down the steps towards him, not taking his eyes from Ryan's the entire time. "At least the conclusions I jump to are logical, Bergara. Not some shit about aliens or ghosts."

"You sound a bit defensive there, Madej."

"I _am_ being defensive, Ryan. Because I know that you're going to try and ruin my report over this shit."

"What a logical conclusion you've jumped to." Ryan smiled at him, passing him on the stairs as he began to head up to the ground floor again. The taller man joined him, walking right beside him, step for step. "Because that's exactly what I'm going to do. Because you're wrong. It wasn't a shark attack."

"Are you being fucking serious, man?" Shane rolled his eyes, the gesture accompanied by a scoff. "What bullshit are you going to try and push on everyone this time, hm? She was abducted? Possessed? A mermaid killed her?"

"She was murdered," replied Ryan simply as they continued down the corridor. He wasn't going to let Shane provoke him; it was _his_ turn to do the provoking. "It's pretty obvious."

"Hmm. Hold on a second. Last time I checked, _I_ was the head of Forensics."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't be."

They came to a halt outside the superintendent's office, facing off, like two cowboys in a Western flick. 

"It was a shark, Ryan. I'm certain."

"Oh, you're certain?"

"Absolutely certain," replied Shane firmly. "And I'm very rarely wrong."

"Well, you know how much I love rare occurrences." Ryan raised a fist to knock on the superintendent's door.

"Hey, hey, woah." Shane waved his hand away from the door, giving him a warning look. "Why are you looking to talk to the super?"

"Come on, Madej," said Ryan flatly. "Put that scientific brain to use, yeah?"

"You're going to snitch on me?"

"Uh, yeah, if that's how you want to phrase it."

"That's what it is, so yeah, that's how I'm going to phrase it." Shane moved so that his back was to the door, separating the shorter man from it. "You don't want to start a war here, Bergara. Because I'll wipe the damn floor with you. I'll polish the tiles with your stupid squishy face."

Ryan raised an eyebrow at him, taking the folded autopsy report from his back pocket. "You think so?"

"I know so."

"Let's test your theory then, shall we?" He waited for a moment. "Uh, excuse me."

Shane didn't move; he couldn't. He wouldn't. "What are you looking for here? An apology for calling you short or something?"

Ryan paused. "I suppose an apology could be a start."

"Well you're not going to get one," replied Shane sharply, jabbing a hard finger into the shorter man's chest. Ryan made a disgusted sound as the finger left behind a bloody mark. "Because I'm not going to let you beat me. Not now. And not in there."

"Gloves, Madej! For fuck's sake!" Ryan scowled at him, attempting to brush the offending finger away without touching it. "You're coming in with me?"

"Oh, you bet, baby." Shane knocked on the door without even turning around, enjoying the slightly anxious look on Ryan's face as he peeled off his gloves. "I'm gonna end this before it's even started."

The superintendent's voice called for them to come in, oddly nonchalant in the intensity of the moment.

Ryan reached around the taller man to open the door, fumbling for the door handle as he stubbornly refused to break eye contact. "You've just made a big mistake."

"I never make mistakes," replied Shane quietly, his voice clipped. 

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Well, there's a first time for everything."

"You can still run, Bergara. You still have a chance to avoid making this horrible and potentially life-ruining decision."

"Come in!" called the superintendent again, a bit more forcefully. "Is there anyone even there, or am I going crazy?"

"Oh, we're here alright," replied Ryan loudly, pushing open the door. _Ding ding ding, round one, Madej_.

"Look, if you're here to bitch about Madej-" Quinta sighed heavily when she saw Shane appear behind Ryan, closing the door. "Great. So you've actually brought each other this time."

"This autopsy report isn't reliable," said Ryan with a simple shrug, placing it on the desk in front of her. "He hasn't even seen a death caused by a shark before."

Shane scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Sometimes, things are so obvious that you don't actually have to think about them. Unless, of course, you have the IQ of a teaspoon."

"How am I supposed to read this?" Quinta squinted at the report. "Why is the writing so small?"

Shane ignored the glower Ryan threw his way. "I have a lot to say. Doesn't fit all on the page sometimes. Don't read under Height."

"No, definitely read under Height," said Ryan firmly. "Then maybe you'll understand the bullshit I have to deal with on a daily basis."

"Oh, _you're_ the poor victim here, hm? I specifically remember someone putting salt instead of sugar into my innocent cup of tea."

"You don't have any proof that was me!"

"It's called _common sense_ , Bergara! Maybe you should-"

"Both of you shut the hell up!" Quinta sighed heavily, getting to her feet. "You're honestly ridiculous. If you weren't both so efficient at your jobs I'd have one or the both of you fired. Do you understand?"

The two detectives stood in silence, blatantly ignoring the other, like two students who had been in a fight and now had to wait in the principal's office together.

"Shane, you can't base autopsy reports on stuff you _think_ might have happened," she stated, gesturing at the report on her desk. "These are extremely important, as you should definitely know by now."

Shane could feel himself flushing. He could see the smug smile on Ryan's face, and boy, did it made his blood boil. "I actually just have a question, if that's okay."

"Yeah, sure."

He turned to Ryan, hands on his hips. "If you don't think it's a shark who killed her, what _do_ you think it was?"

Ryan watched him warily. "I think she was murdered."

"Right. So a human being managed to snap off her leg like a branch? And leave giant bite marks on her skin?"

"I haven't looked into it that much yet-"

"Then riddle me this, Bergara," he said quietly, taking a step towards the man, an almost threatening gesture. "Why do you think you can drag me in here and try to humiliate me when you have no reasonable back up for her death?"

Ryan could feel himself reddening. "As I just _said_ , I haven't looked into it that much yet."

"Because you were in too much of a hurry to ruin my goddamn day, is that why?"

"Your report said there was sand in her stomach," said Ryan suddenly. "She would've had to take a big gulp once she hit the sand, right? How else would sand have gotten into her digestive system?"

Shane narrowed his eyes at him. "Your point?"

"My point is that it's not very likely that by the time a 'shark' dragged her to the bottom of the ocean, she was able to do that. Especially if it was chewing her leg off."

Quinta looked from one to the other, lips pursed. "Listen, you both have pretty relevant points to back up the claims you're making. But there's no point trying to debate about it. Come back to me when you've both actually gotten some proof."

Shane closed the door behind them, glancing at the bustling cubicles to their left before turning his eyes back to Ryan, who stood with his arms folded, autopsy report in hand. For a moment they just glared at each other, waiting for the other to blurt out some insult to get whatever brewing argument going. 

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" muttered Shane. 

"It was a thrill from start to finish."

"Fun for all the family, hm?"

"You know it."

"Give me that," snapped Shane, swiping the report from his hand. 

"Watch it, Madej," replied Ryan just as heatedly. "Don't get upset just because I won."

"Oh, it is _far_ from over, you little jerk."

Ryan turned away with an irritated 'tut', striding off towards his office. He could feel Shane right beside him, a most unwanted presence, like some sort of demon he'd accidentally summoned.

"Do you want something?" he demanded, turning so sharply Shane almost walked straight into him. 

"Oh, sorry. I was just gonna go to your office so I can plant a Saw-like trap of some kind. Just for you."

"Get lost, Madej."

"Unfortunately, I think I'll be doing quite the opposite, since you dragged me into this shit."

"Jesus Christ, sir. Bitter much?"

"Oh, extremely so. And resentful. And particularly vengeful."

"Congratulations on your extensive vocabulary. Would you like a medal?"

"Uh, guys." Brent's eyes appeared over his cubicle, glasses shining. "Yeah, um... Literally everyone can hear you arguing."

He was right. The place was silent but for the sound of pens scratching paper. Many things could be used to describe the silence; deathly, apprehensive, tense. But most of all, just awkward. Shane gave Ryan one last glare before storming back towards the stairs, the report scrunched up in his fist. 

Well, if Bergara wasn't going to play fair, he definitely wasn't going to.

 

 

 

 


	2. Metaphorical Whiplash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, irony. Thou art a fickle bitch.

Okay. Okay, maybe _some_ stuff wasn't adding up. 

The comment Ryan had made about the sand being in her stomach had been running around his head all day, bashing pots and pans together, demanding his attention. The guy was right. The only way she would've been able to get sand into her stomach was if she'd swallowed it upon hitting the bottom of the ocean. And if a shark had been chowing down on her, she probably wouldn't have been alive by the time she hit the seabed. 

He sat back in his chair, staring at the glowing screen in front of him. It was getting late, but there was no way he was going home without finding some proof to support his theory. No way he was just going to roll over and let Bergara walk away with this one. No way.

"You good there?" Sara paused at his door, coat in her hand. "It's half nine, Shane. I think you should go home, get some rest."

"I don't need rest," he replied, voice flat. "I need answers."

"You're not really focusing on the case though, are you?"

"I most definitely am."

"I can see the reflection of the screen in your glasses, Shane. You've just Googled 'how to destroy your enemies'."

"I haven't Googled anything." He took off his treacherous glasses, chucking them onto his desk. "It's a Word document."

"That's... most definitely worse."

"Yeah, whatever. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Don't stay here all night, ya hear?"

"Alright, mother," he replied, rolling his eyes. 

It was eerily quiet after she'd left. He usually didn't care about the bodies that lurked in the cold drawers just outside, but the dim blue lights of the office and the almost dead silence from being underground always made him feel a tad uncomfortable. It was like he was underwater, but surrounded by dead people. He turned on his lamp, the low yellow light making him feel a bit warmer. Still, the murky darkness of the room just outside was very distracting. The room was considerably larger than his office, so much so that he couldn't see the other side from his desk. It was what he did out there that was more important, though. His job was to slice and dice those bodies... He got to his feet, crossing to the door to close it. A sudden movement made his heart freeze, blood turning icy, like liquid nitrogen. Someone was making their way further into the dark room, their back to him, their short silhouette vaguely lit by the cold blue lighting. Even without his glasses, he knew exactly who it was.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Ryan leapt unexpectedly high at the sudden shout, stumbling back against the blank metal examiner's table, the wheels squeaking loudly as he did so. "Holy shit, dude! I- What the hell are _you_ doing?"

"It's my office, idiot!" Shane stepped into the larger room, his heart still racing from shock. "Tell me right now what the absolute hell you think you're doing down here."

He could barely make out Ryan's facial features. "It's not off-limits, Madej."

"It is to you."

A pause. "I came down to ask you for the autopsy report. The original one."

"Oh, you were sneaking around my office to _ask_ me for it, were you?" Shane flicked on the lights, the stark iridescence making them both wince.

"Don't blame me for assuming you wouldn't exactly be cooperative," shot back Ryan, still leaning back against the metal table, hands gripping the edge. 

"You were trying to steal from me. Quinta won't like that."

Ryan took a deep breath, exhaling loudly and forcefully, an exasperated sound. "Fine. Can I have the autopsy report?"

Shane pretended to be deep in thought for a moment, stroking his chin like a wise old wizard, but with a much more manageable beard. "Um, no. How about that."

"Oh, the shock."

"I would've said yes if you hadn't been sneaking around like some thief."

"Bullshit."

"Maybe." Shane raised an eyebrow at him, suddenly suspicious. "Why do you need it, anyway?"

Ryan's face froze. Ah-ha. He was on to something.

"I just do."

"The truth, Bergara. Play fair."

"You know what? Fine. I will play fair. Because I'm just that sure that I'm right about this." Ryan raised his chin, like a little lord looking down at a particularly incompetent servant. "I got in contact with a guy, Ralph Collier. He's a leading expert in pacific coast white shark behavior, and from what little detail I could give him, he's already pretty sure it wasn't a shark."

Shane tried to keep his face neutral, tried to maintain his flippant attitude. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck_. "That's all you've got?"

The man blinked at him. "Have you got more?"

"Oh, I've got so much you wouldn't even know where to begin, Bergara." 

"Liar."

"Nuh-uh."

"Show me, then."

Shane shrugged. "You know what? I'll go one more. I'll give you the report."

Ryan warily watched him cross the room. "Really?"

"Oh, really. I have the whole thing right here." He went over to the area containing all the really science-y stuff, chemistry and the like (AKA Sara's playground). "See? Nice and clean and with big writing, just for you."

"Right." The man's voice was still suspicious, his eyes narrowed. "I'll take it, then."

"Well, just let me do something real quick." Shane swiftly turned on the Bunsen burner, the flame whooshing to life, before holding the report over it. The paper lit up instantly, a hole scorching right through it. He threw it at Ryan, the ashes drifting through the air after it, a smokey trail. "There you go. Knock yourself out!"

Ryan stared at him, mouth agape. The report coiled up on the ground between them, the small flame flickering out. 

"You... You son of a bitch."

"Yeah, now get out of my office." Shane sauntered away across the room to where his desk awaited, slamming the door behind him.

Half of him felt euphoric at the fact that he'd just burned Ryan almost as much as the report. The other half of him was panicking at the fact that Ryan clearly had the upper hand right now. He sat down in front of his laptop, a new wave of motivation pushing him onward. Yep, it was going to be a late night. 

* * *

_Son of a bitch son of a bitch son of a bitch._

Ryan stood in his own office for a moment, fuming. He thought about swiping all the shit off his desk, like they do in movies, but decided against it after realizing he'd have to pick everything up afterwards. Instead, he took out his phone, dialing the most recent contact as he plonked himself down at his desk.

"Hey, Ralph? It's Ryan Bergara again."

"Oh, hello." He sounded dazed, his voice almost slurred. He must've woken him up. "It's, uh, it's quite late."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but this is a bit of an emergency. I can't get the original autopsy."

He could almost hear the man frowning. "What? Why not?"

"Sha-" He managed to prevent himself from blurting out the name. "There's a certain lack of cooperation going on in the Forensics division here."

"Huh? They can't just withhold the report, can they?"

Ryan thought about what it would be like to have never met Shane Madej. Life must be so much simpler for those lucky folks. "There's a certain situation brewing that's causing some, um, _irregular behavior_ from the division. It's a long story. But can I just get those few details again?"

"Which ones?"

"About the leg and the bites and stuff."

"I'll see if I can find them. Just hold on a moment." The sound of rustling, a murmuring female voice. Ryan pulled a face, realizing that perhaps it was a bit unprofessional to wake up a couple and disturb their night just to win a... just to win whatever was going on. "Yeah, I have them. Do you have a pen?"

"Yep."

"Right. Firstly, the only shark that could bite off a human's leg is a Great White. And you said the bone was splintered, yes?"

"Yeah."

"A Great White wouldn't leave a splintered bone. Their bites go right through a femur like a buzzsaw through a twig. Also, there was no reported teeth found, and it's very common for a Great White to leave behind a tooth upon biting. The things are essentially a renewable resource."

The pen scribbled furiously across the page as Ryan noted everything he could. "Yeah, that's good. Well, it's not _good_ , but you get what I mean."

"A Great White doesn't kill just to kill, either. The movies just make them act so. If the woman had been killed by a Great White, it would've taken a lot more than her leg."

"Thanks, Ralph. Really, I mean it."

"It's no problem, detective. Anything to help."

Ryan placed his phone down, nodding to himself in satisfaction. He usually detested desk work, but this case was giving him a bit of an adrenaline kick. 

He wasn't sure what time he eventually went home at. 

* * *

"What did I say about not staying here all night?"

Shane sat bolt upright, so suddenly his chair almost tipped right over. "Wh- What the fuck am I? Where? Huh?"

"Did you sleep here?" said Sara incredulously, eyes wide. "Jesus Christ, Shane."

"I- No, I didn't," he lied, searching his desk for his glasses. He felt stiff all over, moving like an old man as he stood up. "I was just having a nap. You know how it is."

"Uh, no, I don't. And I'm not even going to ask about the small pile of ash in the middle of the room." She shook her head at him, smiling just a tiny bit; she couldn't help it. The guy was ridiculous, really. "Go get yourself a coffee, yeah? It's time to get workin'."

He dragged himself up to the kitchen, catching a glimpse of himself in the windows lining the corridor. He looked like he'd slept on the street, shirt rumpled, hair tousled, an overall air of businessman-turned-homelessman. The light from outside hurt his eyes, urging him to continue on to the kitchen. He'd just finished pouring his cup when he almost _sensed_ his presence, pausing, kettle poised over his mug.

"You look like shit, Madej."

He slowly turned to look at the head of Major Crimes, kettle in one hand, steaming mug in the other. "You don't look too fresh yourself, pal."

The man stood with his arms folded, a slip of paper just visible in his hand. "Didn't sleep, hm? Worried about something, maybe?"

Shane wondered which would be less frowned upon; throwing the kettle at him, or throwing the coffee. "I slept like a damn baby, Bergara. Just... not at home."

Ryan raised an eyebrow as he crossed the kitchen towards him. "Sure. Now, you're going to want to have a look at these."

"At what?" replied Shane suspiciously, placing down the kettle. 

Ryan pushed the piece of paper into the man's chest, just hard enough to make him take a step backwards. "Oh, a list of suspects in the Von Emster murder case."

The taller man looked at the names, then up at Ryan. "You get permission for this?"

"Not yet."

"Getting a bit cocky, Bergara."

"Why wouldn't I? Flip the page over and there's a list of reasons as to why it wasn't a shark attack. From a certain individual I told you about, who is an expert in pacific coast white shark behavior _and_ ecology."

Shane did so, biting his bottom lip as he scanned the page. "Right. Right, let's just settle something here."

Ryan watched him closely, an almost-smile on his face as he waited for the man's response. "Yeah?"

"Maybe - and _just maybe_ -  it..." He took a deep breath, looking as if he was in actual physical pain at the thought of saying the next few words, his grip on his mug white-knuckled.

"Maybe it what? Come on, Madej."

"Maybe it wasn't a shark," he said quickly, so quickly it almost sounded like one mashed-up word. "But it definitely wasn't murder!"

"YES!" Ryan punched the air, celebrating like he just scored a touchdown. "Fuck yeah! And fuck you! I win! Suck it!"

"Keep your voice down, you idiot!" Shane glared fiercely at the man as he practically threw the paper at him. The cup of coffee was hot in his hand, but not half as scalding as the white-hot anger in his chest. "As I just said, _it wasn't murder_. Her injuries are more consistent with a car crash, or a fall from a great height, like a third-floor balcony or something."

"Oh, bite me, Madej. You lose."

"You haven't actually done anything to prove it was _murder_. You just disproved the shark theory!"

Ryan blinked, his smile slowly fading. "I... That's step two."

"Oh, is it?" Shane rolled his eyes, visibly relaxing at the fact that he wasn't quite as behind as he'd previously thought. "I'll tell you what step two is, bud. Step two is me being forced to make a fool out of you in front of the entire office. And step three is you quitting out of pure embarrassment."

"Keep running your mouth, Madej. I'm on this case like George Hodel on the Black Dahlia."

Shane frowned at him, moving towards the door. "Am I supposed to understand that, or-"

"Back in, Madej." The superintendent closed the door behind her, standing with her hands on her hips as she looked from one to the other. "Your behavior is beginning to make the rest of the office uncomfortable."

"What?" Ryan stared at her. "Really?"

Quinta shrugged. "Well, no. Not really. But it's distracting them. They're treating the whole thing like it's a damn reality TV show. Like Keeping Up With the Kardashians."

Shane took a sip of his coffee, eyebrows raised. "I'd be Kim."

"Bullshit. I'd be Kim," replied Ryan heatedly.

"Fine. I'd be Kris. She's the one in charge, anyway."

"Incorrect. _I'd_ be Kris," interrupted Quinta. "Now shut up. I actually have something important to tell you. They're opening up an official investigation into the Michelle Von Emster case."

Shane almost spat out his coffee. "They're _what?!_ "

"Stuff isn't adding up, Shane. I've discussed it with my colleagues, and they think we should be treating it as a potential homicide."

Ryan couldn't hide his smile. Not that he even tried. "This... is great news. I feel so alive right now."

"This place is going to the dogs," said Shane sharply, gesturing towards the offices so violently some coffee spilled out over the top of his mug. "That's - fuck - That's crazy. There's no way that's possible. There isn't enough hard evidence!"

"This is probably the happiest day of my life," said Ryan matter-of-factly, reveling in the barely-contained fury evident on his co-worker's face.

"There's more." She pointed at the two of them, an almost warning look in her eyes. "Don't freak out."

The two men stared, suddenly very quiet. It was as if she'd whipped out a gun. 

"You're being assigned as the head detectives on the case."

There was a momentary pause. A calm before the storm.

"No way!" Ryan shook his head, straightening up. "I don't believe you. You wouldn't."

Shane stood in stunned silence, mug halfway to his mouth.

"Oh, I'm serious. It was a unanimous decision."

"You're not fucking serious." Shane pointed at the shorter man, an accusatory gesture. "This bozo has been the bane of my life for the past however long I've been working here! I'm not doing this!"

"Oh, _I_ was the bane of _your_ life, huh? You're a smartass little shit, and I-"

"One more word and I'll smack you right in the teeth, Bergara."

"Quinta, please don't make me do this." Ryan turned to her, eyes wide. "I'll do anything. I'll do all your paperwork for free. I'll stay late every night for a month."

"It's not that kind of decision, Ryan." She shrugged. "I'm sorry."

Shane emptied his now-lukewarm coffee into the sink, the liquid sloshing up onto the counter. He buried his head in his hands, standing perfectly still for a few minutes. He couldn't seem to process exactly what was happening. It was his worst nightmare. Ryan was standing just a few feet away, a glazed look on his face like he'd just had a vision of the way the world was going to end.

"Now that you've basically gone through the five stages of grief," said Quinta into the silence. "You should get to work."

She knew she didn't need to worry about the work part, though. Nothing like a bit of healthy competition to make people work harder, right?


	3. Let's Get Into The Theories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The theories are presented. And ridiculed. And debated. But they're mainly presented. And eventually acted upon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yah some random buzzfeed people are in this but it's still gonna revolve around shane and ryan. it's just that they can't be the only two people in a police station, right

"I'd give it a week. At most."

"A week? No way. Five days."

"Five days _at least_. They're still professionals, guys."

"Well, maybe one of them is."

Sara threw daggers at him. "Look, Shane is very good at what he does. He's not the head of Forensics for being super friendly."

"That's obvious," replied Brent flatly. "He's an asshole."

"He's not!"

"I'm still giving it a week," shrugged Steven, spinning slowly on his chair. The small meeting room was empty but for the four of them; Sara, Helen, Brent and himself. The Chosen Ones. "I'll put fifty dollars on it."

"I'm saying five. And let's make it an even hundred, yeah?" Helen grinned at him. 

"The real question is who will snap first," said Sara, leaning forwards on the table, like it was a top secret discussion. "I'll put my money on Ryan. You ever seen him after watching one of those conspiracy theory things? He's a mess."

"I'll balance this out and say Shane'll go first." Brent turned his head as loud voices started approaching the room; not exactly yelling, but definitely not friendly.

"Any type of shark could've left those bites, Madej! Her body was in the water for who knows how long."

"I know how long! Me! It was in the water for approximately three hours."

The awaiting team shared looks ranging from amused to anxious.

"What's your point here, Shane? If you even have one."

"My point, Ryan, is that if little sharks decided to have a snack, why wouldn't a Great White have done the same? Broken off a leg for later."

"Oh my God, shut up."

"Hey, don't tell me to shut up. I have a valid point."

"A valid point?" Ryan pushed open the door to the room, followed closely by the taller detective. "I don't think so."

"Why don't you just take a seat while I lay down some facts, yeah?" said Shane with mock-politeness, sweeping a hand towards the chairs. "Hello, everybody. Welcome to the first meeting for this completely pointless investigation."

"I can feel the motivation rising within me already," muttered Brent, wiping his glasses on his shirt.

"Zip it, Bennett. Now, let's just get something nice and clear here." Shane gave them all a stern look, lingering on Ryan. "This is _not_ a murder investigation. This is an investigation into whether it was even a murder in the first place. It has not been officially declared a homicide. So if you want any actual non-biased facts about the state of the body based on _logic_ and _common sense_ , I'm your guy."

"And if you want someone who sees things for what they are, come to me." Ryan moved to stand beside him, hands on his hips. "Because there are many signs that are pointing towards a homicide. A staggering amount, really."

Shane rolled his eyes, throwing his hands into the air. Brent raised his eyebrows at Sara; he was definitely going to win the bet at this rate. She gave him a sour scowl.

"First, the leg could not have been removed by a shark," began Ryan, chucking a pile of documents into the middle of the table. Everyone immediately reached for one, the sound of files flipping open filling the room. "Only a Great White could take a limb off a human, and its bite is so powerful it'd go straight through the bone like a table saw. Second, the fact that there was sand found in her stomach suggests that she was still breathing by the time she hit the seabed. A forced drowning in shallow water could explain this, though."

"Hey," snapped Shane, turning to him. "We said no personal comments on the case."

"Fine, okay!" Ryan sighed heavily, shoulders slumped. "She just somehow managed to drown in shallow water when there was no evidence of drugs or alcohol in her system."

"It's possible!"

"Is it?" replied Ryan dryly. 

"Yeah," shrugged Sara, getting a nod of approval from Shane. "It actually happens pretty frequently. People can trip and knock their heads and stuff."

"There was no evidence of a knock to the head though, was there?"

"What about the broken neck?" asked Steven, his eyes appearing over the top of the document. "How'd that happen?"

Shane quickly spoke up before Ryan could continue. "Her injuries are more consistent with those of a car crash, or a fall, which I have dealt with multiple times. Scratches, bruises, broken neck, all of it points towards heavy physical trauma, but not inflicted by another individual."

"He thinks she fell off Sunset Cliffs," said Ryan in a flat voice, taking a seat beside Helen. "Which doesn't really explain the missing leg, but..."

"Shut up." Shane pulled the large whiteboard to the front of the table, popping open a marker. The pen squeaked as he scribbled on the board. "This is the time frame. She was last seen at 8pm by her boss, wearing a green coat. Her body entered the water at approximately midnight that night. She turns up on the rocks, naked, with the listed injuries. Some surfers found her there at around 9am. She was brought to the Lifeguard HQ at 4pm, and they later brought it here. That's it."

"But let's get into the theories," said Ryan, getting back to his feet. He held his hand out for the marker. Shane reluctantly passed it over, standing by the board with his arms folded. "First one is that she went for a swim and got eaten by a shark, and then she bled out and got washed up on the rocks. However, it's important to note that the water would've only been 59 degrees at the time, and the air would've been 57 degrees. It's also a very rocky place to go for a swim."

"Okay, just move on," muttered Shane, propping himself against the wall behind him. 

"The second theory is that she fell from Sunset Cliffs." Ryan's tone of voice made it clear what he thought about this one. "The cliffs are made of sandstone, and are known for being dangerously uneven underfoot. Although this would explain the bruises and the broken neck and stuff, it wouldn't cause a leg to fall off."

"Where is the leg, anyway?" asked Brent. "Has anyone found it?"

"It's probably in a shark's digestive system somewhere," said Shane with a shrug. "Just a 'theory', though."

"But Ryan already proved it wasn't a shark."

"Shut up, Brent. I didn't even want you on the team."

"Woaaaah." Steven pulled a face. "Hostile work environment."

"The third theory," continued Ryan loudly, writing one word in giant letters before turning back to face them. "Murder."

Helen shivered. "Oooh, I just got the spooks."

"I know, right?" grinned Ryan, the lid going back onto the marker with a satisfying 'click'. "There's already some pretty obvious things that have pointed towards a homicide, but one of the things I find pretty weird is the fact that nothing of hers has turned up. No coat, no clothing at all actually. None of her belongings. And, as Brent said, no leg. It kind of hints towards a dumping of a body into the ocean, right?"

Shane stepped forwards, wiping a passive-aggressive hand through the word 'murder'. "I think you're jumping to conclusions. We haven't even scoured the beach yet."

"Then let's make that our first point of business, yeah?" Sara gave Shane an excited grin. "I can finally wear a white suit."

"Yay." Shane turned to Ryan, hands on his hips. "Me and Sara will start by investigating the area the body was found. We'll do that first thing tomorrow morning, when it's quiet."

"Okay. Cool. I'm going to go talk to Von Emster's old boss. Steven, you're coming with."

Brent got to his feet, gathering up the files. "And I'll...?"

"You and Helen go to the lifeguard's HQ, ask if they saw any dodgy behavior that night." Ryan gave everyone a smile. "That okay with everyone?"

Shane frowned. "Well, what are me and Sara supposed to do for the rest of the day, huh?"

"I really don't care that much," shrugged Ryan, starting to clean off the whiteboard as the others started chatting quietly among themselves. "Whatever you want."

"Listen here, Bergara," said Shane in a clipped voice, moving to stand beside him so the others couldn't hear. "You don't have full authority over this case, remember? So stop acting like it."

"I just said you can do whatever you want," replied Ryan coolly, giving him a flat look. "Unless you don't want me to tell you to do whatever you want?"

"I don't want you to tell me to do anything. We're both heading this case, got it?"

Ryan shrugged. "Yeah, I know."

"I'm coming with you."

He paused in cleaning the board, shoulders frozen. "You're what?"

"Steven can stay here. I'm coming to talk to Von Emster's boss with you." Shane pulled the whiteboard back towards the wall, indicating that it was done being cleaned. Which it wasn't. "As head detective, I delegate myself."

Ryan moved after him, staying close so he wouldn't have to raise his voice. "No, Shane. I'm not okay with that."

"I dub it a team-building exercise," smiled the man, one hand resting on the top of the board as he smiled down at him. "Cooperation is key, after all."

"You can't just- I'm not approving this. Also, the board isn't clean."

Shane simply flipped the board to the clean side. "Now it is. Ta-da."

"So _you're_ the guy who's been leaving the boards dirty! I should've fucking guessed."

"Yeah, you should have. You're a detective."

Ryan gritted his teeth in irritation. "I don't want you to come with me. You'll just try to sabotage any evidence."

Shane frowned at him, offended. "I'm still a professional, Ryan. Jesus."

"You set your autopsy report on fire instead of giving it to me!"

"Shh!" 

They glanced at the rest of the team, who quickly looked away and continued talking quietly, moving towards the door. Steven reluctantly closed it after them.

"Look, Ryan." Shane moved to the table, sitting against it, arms folded. "I know that we've had our, uh, our _differences_. But I'm not going to reject any actual evidence of murder if it does come up. Which it hasn't, so far."

"Don't blame me if I don't believe you." 

Shane gave him a warning look. "I'm trying to have a normal conversation with you here. You could at least try as well."

Ryan paused, as if thinking about whether or not to bother trying to cooperate. "Fine. Fine, that's, uh, that's very nice of you."

Shane pulled a face at this, shaking his head. "Nope, stop. That's enough of that."

"Are you serious?"

"Hey, I tried. Now, let's go."

"I still don't want you to come with me."

"Well you can cry about it later, Bergara." Shane took his keys from his pocket, casually swinging them around his finger as he swanned past the shorter man. "I'm driving."

 

* * *

 

The gravel crunched under the wheels as they pulled into the parking lot. Shane killed the engine, squinting at the cafe. It was small, and quaint, and hidden away on the cliffs. No wonder he'd never seen it before; only a crazy person would bother coming all the way up here for a coffee.

"They do pretty good drinks," said Ryan beside him, opening the door. "Hoooooly shit, it's cold."

Shane stepped out on his side, suppressing a curse as the icy wind cut through him. "Well maybe you should've brought a jacket then."

"You wouldn't bring one either," said Ryan from across the car, hugging himself. "And don't even try to tell me you're not cold."

The taller man glowered at him, the strong breeze ruffling his hair as he held the car door open for warmth. "Maybe it's a little chilly. Anyway, that's not important. What's this woman's name again?"

"You didn't read the file?"

"No, I didn't read the file," replied Shane in a mocking voice, closing the car door.

Ryan gave him a withering look as they began heading towards the cafe. "If that was supposed to sound like me, you failed."

"Just tell me her name, Bergara."

"It's Denise Knox," replied Ryan sharply, trying to keep his teeth from chattering as they approached the building. "You couldn't have parked closer to the place, no?"

"No. Stop being a wimp." Shane opened the door, the bell tingling. He gestured for him to go through first. "Go on, then. Since you're in such a hurry."

Ryan scowled up at him as he passed by, the warmth of the place very welcome indeed. It was basically empty; just one old man sipping what seemed to be a cappuccino, and two women working behind the counter.

"Is Denise Knox in?" asked Ryan, showing his badge as he moved towards the till. He could feel Shane just at his shoulder, like an unwanted shadow. "We're just here to ask her about Michelle."

"I'm Denise." The woman further down the counter moved towards them, gesturing at the other woman to give them some space before turning to them. "I can't believe she's really dead. It doesn't feel real."

"Yeah?" Shane raised an eyebrow, hands in his pockets. "Were you two close?"

"Well, she was a kind woman," said Denise with a sad smile. "Really, she was. A pleasure to have working here."

"Yeah, save it for the eulogy. I-" He cursed as Ryan elbowed him in the side, glaring at him. "Ow! What the hell, man?"

" _Disrespectful_ , Madej," snapped his coworker. "I'm sorry, Ms Knox. Go on."

She gave the taller detective an uncomfortable look. "...He has a point, though. I should just tell you things that will help you."

Ryan took a small notepad from his pocket, turning to Shane. "You got a pen?"

"Do I- No, I don't have a pen. I thought you were bringing that stuff."

"Did I _say_ I was bringing that stuff?"

"Well, no, but your office was right beside the meeting room!"

"And? You just assumed that I'd bring everything we needed, huh? You want me to whip out packed lunches too?"

"I have one here," said the woman quickly, handing a black pen over the counter to Ryan. "Would you two like to have a moment just to, um, talk some stuff through? I don't mind."

"No, we're fine," said Ryan through gritted teeth, ignoring the grumpy mutters from behind him. "Thank you."

"Okay, cool. Uh, I heard Michelle say that she was going to some guy's house that night. He works down the road." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Edward, I think? I suspect they were having a bit of a fling or something."

Shane blinked at her. "Really? You weren't the last person to see her?"

"I thought I had been! But I was chatting to him yesterday, and he mentioned that she came by. He works in the bar just further down the hill."

"Thanks! Bye!" Shane was already backing towards the door, car keys in hand.

"We're not done here, Madej. Come back." Ryan half-turned to give him a stern frown, a visual 'or else'. 

Shane held his gaze, folding his arms across his chest. "I'll wait here, thank you very much."

"For God's- Fine. Suit your goddamn self." He turned back to Denise, who now appeared to be entirely baffled. "Anything else you heard? Or saw?"

"Uh, no, not really." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Michelle... She had a _stalker_. A guy who rode a motorcycle. That's why she quit her own job and came to work here. I saw him a few times, but he never came in."

Shane was staring at them, frowning. "What're you talking about? What's going on?"

"Shut up, Shane." Wow, that sentence was satisfying. Ryan scribbled down a quick summary of Denise's information, smiling at her. "Thanks a million, Ms Knox. Really."

Shane glowered at him as they stepped outside, swiping the notepad from him. "What did she whisper to you? What's with the secrecy?"

Ryan snatched it back, holding it behind him. "It's not secrecy, Shane. It's you being too fucking impatient to wait until she'd finished talking."

"It's called being efficient, Bergara," he shot back, trying to grab the notepad. "It's not my fault that you- Give me that. Give it!"

Ryan shoved the notepad up under his shirt, hugging it tightly against him. "No! You need to learn some patience."

"You're a- Fuck you, man." Shane stormed back towards the car, gritting his teeth against the cold wind. "Here's me, trying to cooperate-"

"You aren't trying shit!" Ryan stood at the passenger door, one hand resting on the car roof as he glared across it at his coworker. "You're being an ass! You were so rude to her!"

"I wasn't being rude, Ryan. I was gathering information that actually matters." He sat into the car, immediately turning on the engine to warm it up. "No wonder the Major Crimes division is so useless."

"Excuse me?" Ryan sat in beside him, keeping the notepad carefully guarded; he could see Shane's gaze flickering to it. "My division is doing its job perfectly well. The Forensics division is two people, one of whom is a _total fucking asshole_ , and the other Doctor Frankenstein trapped in a woman's body. That's how much your division doesn't matter. The damn IT department is more important."

"Sara is essentially a qualified rocket scientist, you little jerk. What do you have? Oh yeah: Steven, who is really a child with ADD also on copious amounts of cocaine, and the wonderful Brent, who is basically a sack of flour."

For a moment they simply glared at each other. Shane looked away first, pulling out of the car park. It was silence as they drove down the dirt road, a silence so tense that it felt like it could go up in flames at any second. Ryan refused to look at the man beside him, arms folded as he glared out the window. For what was essentially a five minute drive, it felt like hours.

"I think this is it," said Shane coldly, pulling up beside a rickety-looking bar. 

Ryan didn't reply, just got out, slamming the door behind him. Shane took a moment to calm down as the other detective disappeared into the bar. A fruitless task.

This Edward was in for a bit of bad-cop bad-cop, it seemed.


	4. The Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and Ryan struggle to cooperate. An interesting accessory falls into their hands.

He could hear the voices before he even entered the bar.

"Did you do it? Did you kill Michelle Von Emster?"

 _"_ No! No way! Me and Michelle were friends! We were-"

"Just spit it out, guy!"

Shane shoved open the doors, immediately spotting Ryan and the unfortunate bartender. "What the hell are you doing, Bergara?"

"Oh, I'm just being _efficient_ ," replied Ryan wryly, looking back over his shoulder at the man.

Shane gave him a cutting glare before moving his gaze to the bartender. "You Edward?"

"It's Edwin," replied the man hesitantly, looking from one to the other. "Edwin Decker."

"Edwin?" Shane snorted, joining Ryan on their side of the bar. "That's just Edward's weird little brother."

"Uh, okay." The bartender looked like a deer in the headlights. "I think you guys have some wrong information. I didn't see Michelle the night _of_ her death."

Ryan stared at him, waiting. "Then what night, Edward? Don't try it with the mini-cliffhangers, okay? I've had a long day."

"Sorry. Yeah, I saw her the night _before_ she..." He trailed off, biting his lip. "Before she died."

"You guys have a thing or something?" 

"Well, we definitely had a connection. We vibed."

Shane gave him a withering look. "You _vibed_. Right, Ryan. Looks like we've got ourselves surfer trash."

Ryan turned, hands on his hips. "Did you never learn basic manners or something? He's literally right there."

"Listen, Edward," continued Shane, ignoring the shorter man. "Did Michelle say anything odd? Or do anything?"

"It's Edwin. And no, she was just normal." He suddenly looked wistful. "No, she wasn't normal. She was special. She was so special, you don't understand. She-"

"Oh my God, I don't care. Just tell us the important stu-"

Ryan punched the taller man in the arm, a bit harder than necessary, cutting him off. Shane restrained himself from returning the favor. Instead he just stepped out of his reach, holding his arm like he'd been shot. 

"Okay, if you wouldn't mind coming to the station with us, that'd be great," said Ryan, turning back to the bartender. "Sorry for any inconvenience, Edward, it's just that you could have some important information for us."

" _Edwin_. My name is Edwin. And of course. I loved Michelle, with my heart. And my soul." He sniffed, eyes beginning to water. "I'll do anything to bring her killer to justice."

"It's not an official murder, Edward!" snapped Shane, throwing his hands into the air. "Jesus, what is wrong with everyone?"

"My name is..." He looked from one to the other, an eyebrow raised. "Are you guys doing that on purpose?"

* * *

The station was buzzing. People hurried up and down the corridors with renewed vigor. Not everyone was involved in the Von Emster case, that would be ridiculous. But it had been a long time since a potential murder had popped up, and it had everyone feeling a bit more police-y than usual. In fact, the only people not enjoying the case were the ones working the case.

"And he wouldn't show you?"

"No! He wouldn't let me see the stupid notepad." He held his cup in both hands, steaming almost as much as the tea in it. "He's driving me insane."

Helen tried to hide her smile. "Look, we're going to go in and ask this guy questions, and you won't have to see Ryan for the entire thing. It'll be a break."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

Edwin Decker sat in the interview room right beside them. He seemed nice enough. A bit of a liberal hippy, perhaps, but not mean. Or murderous. But maybe he was. It wasn't a thing you just decide on the look of a person, was it? Shane wasn't too sure what really made up a murderer. A fact which he would never, ever reveal to the team. Well, one team member in particular.

"Will we head in, or do you want to finish your tea?"

Shane shrugged. "I guess we might as well get it over with. It seems like he wants to give us what he can, but..."

His sentence trailed off as Helen's gaze shifted to something behind him, sucking air in through her teeth. "Uh, I have a feeling our plans might be changing."

Shane heard him before he saw him.

" _I_ brought him in, Shane." Ryan rounded on the taller man, clearly livid. " _I_ was the one who found Michelle's place of work and her boss. How the hell do you even think it's okay to question Edward without telling me?"

He hadn't thought it was okay. He had done it specifically to irritate him. Not that he could admit that. "Your views are biased, Ryan. You'll jump on anything he says and say that it's pointing towards murder, even when it's most definitely not."

Helen stood beside them, staring at the floor. She wanted to leave, but wasn't sure exactly how to. Just run? Would movement direct their anger towards her? Oh God.

"Your views are biased too, Madej! It should be people like Helen and Brent who don't have a firm standing at all."

"Or maybe it should just be me and you," replied Shane, so icily it was a wonder his tea didn't freeze over. "And we'll see who comes out on top."

"That's..." Ryan narrowed his eyes at him. "You're just looking for trouble now, aren't you? You're trying your hardest to ruin this case for me."

Helen cleared her throat. "So, can I go and do other work, or should I stay?"

"You can go," said Shane, not taking his eyes from Ryan's. "Unless you're having second thoughts, huh, Bergara?"

"I see no reason to have second thoughts about taking this opportunity to wipe the stupid smug smile off your stupid smug face," replied Ryan sharply. "Which I will."

"I have an 85% success rate in witness confessions, Ryan. Thems the facts."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yeah, it is so, because I have basic knowledge and common sense in my brain, and not useless shit about ghosts and crop circles."

"Explain crop circles to me then," challenged Ryan, folding his arms across his chest. "With your _basic knowledge_ and _common sense_."

"Bored kids."

"None of the wheat is ever snapped. It's all just curved-"

"Clever bored kids."

"You're insufferable."

"Good. I hope you're suffering."

"Edwin is waiting!" interrupted Helen, a half-yell to grab their attention. "He's right through that door. If you want to go and, you know, do your jobs."

* * *

The bartender visibly deflated when he saw them. "Oh... You two..."

Ryan sat down at the desk. Shane stayed standing, arms folded. They were silent for a moment, just staring at the bartender. Edwin looked from one to the other, a frown on his face.

"Are you two, like, police partners?" he asked dubiously. "No offense, but like, I get the feeling that you guys don't, like,  _like_ each other or something."

"If you say 'like' one more time I'll scream." Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily before switching on the recorder. "Just tell us why you were with Michelle that night."

The bartender nodded, leaning forwards. "Yeah, dudes. No problem. Me and Michelle were having a bit of a thing. I don't know what it was. I liked her a lot, and I think she liked me. We had this, like, crazy energy, you know? I don't know how to describe it. Kind of like what you two, like, have. But not as, like, aggressive?"

"I'm going to ignore that completely," said Ryan flatly, avoiding Shane's eyes, who was avoiding his back. 

"Inappropriate, Edward. Jesus."

"Edwin!" The bartender took a deep breath. "Never mind. Sorry. Anyway, me and Michelle were experiencing something, like, on the next level. And she came over to mine, and we kissed before she went home."

"When did she go home?" asked Ryan, folding his arms on the table in front of him. "Did she say anything out of the ordinary? Or do anything that would suggest something was troubling her mind?"

"She went home at around 5am. I remember being a bit worried about her, because, like, where she lives is kind of rough."

"Hm?" Shane raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean 'rough'? Violence? Crime? Specify, please and thank you."

"Drugs, bro. And loads of violent crime because of the drugs. The neighborhood she lives - lived - in is called the Warzone."

Ryan could feel Shane's eyes burning into his skull. "I... I didn't find anything that said that when I checked up on her apartment block. Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah, I'm super sure. The Warzone. And I was worried that she was walking home herself, like, all the way home." Edwin smiled a sad smile. "I offered to walk her home, but she said no. She was so free, man. So like, wild. She used to, like, swim and surf naked and stuff-"

"Really?" Shane's eyes visibly brightened. "So that would explain why her body was found naked. Okay."

Ryan mentally cursed; Shane was going to hang onto that bit of information for dear life. "Did she have anywhere she'd usually leave her clothing, do you know?"

"She used to just leave it on the beach, bro. Get it afterwards." He frowned. "Did you not find her clothes?"

"We're going to scour the beach in the morning, when it's not dark. Not that it's any of your business, but there you go." Shane tapped Ryan on the shoulder. Well, more of a slap than a tap. "Outside for a moment, yeah?"

Ryan reluctantly followed him, closing the door behind him. "What? What is it?"

"How did you not come across the fact that her neighborhood is called the 'Warzone'?"

He rubbed a weary hand down his face, letting it rest over his mouth as he glared at the taller man. "You brought me out here just to point out the fact that I missed a minor detail in my background check?"

"As if you didn't drag me to the super just because I made an estimated guess at how Von Emster died," replied Shane, very bitterly indeed. 

"You- You're unbelievable. And I'm not staying here to listen to you, okay?"

"Hold on a second there." Shane placed a firm hand on his shoulder, preventing him from moving back to the interview room. "You're the head of Major Crimes, and you missed-"

"Hand off, Madej."

"-a vital piece of information about the victim's personal life-"

"Get your hand off me."

"-and if I really wanted to, I could report your mistake to Quinta-"

Ryan suddenly shoved his coworker away, hard enough to make the man stumble a few steps. "I said get your hand off me!"

Shane stared at him in silence for a long minute, his face unreadable. "You just pushed me."

"Yeah. I did."

Shane straightened up, showing his considerable height, like a bird puffing up its feathers. "You're lucky that I am a _very_ patient man, Ryan Bergara. Or else I'd put my fist right through your chest and spin you around like a damn pinwheel."

"You're all talk, Madej. Blah blah blah."

"Oh, you want to do this? You want to dance, huh?"

Ryan rolled his shoulders, bouncing lightly on the spot. "Oh, I want to dance alright." He raised his fists. "I hope you don't value your teeth, because you'll be puking them up on the pavement in a few minutes."

Shane gave him an unimpressed look. "Whatever. Just say hey to Sara for me, will you? Because I'm gonna rock bottom you right through the floor-"

The sound of an excited squeak made them both freeze, simultaneously glancing at the door to their left. The door to the room in which you would stand if you wanted to use the one-way window to see the interview room. The observation room. A muttered curse followed the squeak, along with a scuffling sound. For God's sake.

Ryan reached over, yanking open the door. In the room stood Sara, Brent, and Steven, all with dollar bills clutched in their hands. They stood still as stone, wide-eyed.

Steven raised his hands, attempting a smile. "They're just arguing over which one of you technically snapped first. They had bets on it."

"You little snitch." Brent slapped him lightly across the back of the head. "It was Shane, by the way. When he was all ' _oh my God, you pushed me!_ '" 

"Nooo, it was Ryan when he pushed Shane!" objected Sara.

"Shut up. All of you, shut up." Shane scowled at them over Ryan's head, letting the dark look linger on each of them. "Sara, I'm disappointed in you, but also appreciative that you didn't bet on me. You can finish the Decker interview with Helen as a reward. Steven, Brent, get back to work."

The team scurried past, avoiding the equally intense glares from the two head detectives. Shane and Ryan stood in the doorway to the empty room, avoiding each other's eyes. The giggles of their coworkers disappeared down the corridor, leaving them stewing in the silence. And the humiliation.

"Right." Ryan cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. "Right, that was not a good sign."

"No, it wasn't."

"They were betting on when we'd fight."

"That's exactly what they were doing."

An awkward silence. Shane glanced around the room, lips pressed together in a firm line.

"We're not that bad, are we?" asked Ryan gingerly.

"Well... I didn't think we were." Shane shrugged. "Maybe from time to time we get a little bit, uh, aggressive. But so does everyone, right?"

Ryan stared at the wall, face blank. "I cannot think of a single other person in this office who acts like us."

Shit. He was most definitely right. "Maybe, _just_ maybe, it's us who's the problem."

"It's definitely us, Shane. That's not really debatable."

Shane stood in silence, unsure of how to continue the conversation. Probably for the exact reason that they seemed to actually be having a slightly-normal conversation. No yelling. No insults. Nothing. Ryan met his eyes for a fleeting moment, the two of them immediately looking away. This was uncomfortable territory. Very uncomfortable. Helen and Sara passed by, talking quietly between themselves, disappearing into the interview room. Still, the two detectives stood in silence. 

"I, uh, I'm going to go to the beach. To have a look around before morning." Shane stepped into the corridor. "Not to just go to the beach. That'd be weird. Since it's dark out. And stuff."

"That's not what Von Emster thought," replied Ryan quietly. "According to you." 

Shane just gave him a long look before turning away. Ryan watched him stride off down the corridor, before stepping into the observation room and closing the door behind him.

* * *

The wind was icy cold. Shane shoved his hands into his jacket pocket, stepping out into the dark. It was a tranquil sort of silence; the water sloshed peacefully on the sand, murmurs of civilizations breezed up from further down the coast. This part of the beach was particularly isolated. He glanced over his shoulder at where his car waited back on the road. It was close enough, but if something were to happen to him...

 _Jesus, Madej,_ he thought to himself, taking out his flashlight and flicking it on. _You're beginning to think like a certain someone_.

He moved towards the rocks. They were slippy, covered in kelp, still damp from the salty water that had recently covered them. He crouched down, pulling at a piece of the seaweed. Ick. The beach was gross. Why did people voluntarily come here? 

Keeping his torchlight on the treacherous rocks, he moved further out, towards where the body had supposedly been found. Maybe he'd find a coat or something. Or a leg. That'd be the jackpot. He could hear the waves splashing gently against the rocks, but he couldn't see the water unless he shone his torch at it. And even then it just made him feel uneasy; the inky blackness stretched out as far as the eye could see. And further. Why the hell would Michelle Von Emster have chosen to just pop in for a swim in these conditions? As the days went by, he was finding it harder and harder to disprove Ryan's murder theory. Maybe he should just give in. If he really put everything he had behind it, the entire investigation could probably be over in a matter of weeks. It would probably be over in a matter of days if he stopped arguing with Bergara. 

"You need help?"

Shane leapt a mile into the air, yelling out a curse as he slipped on the rocks, landing heavily on his side. "Fucking hell! Ow! What the hell, Ryan?"

"I- Sorry! I thought you would've seen me coming!" Ryan stepped forwards, hesitantly offering a hand. "I didn't think it was a good idea for you to come out here by yourself."

Shane gingerly took the hand, half expecting the guy to let go halfway as some sort of joke. He didn't. "Yeah, I'm good. Just scratched my hands up a bit."

The shorter man had his own torch. Shane wondered how he hadn't seen him coming. Too invested in the stupid seaweed, probably.

"You find anything?" asked Ryan, venturing further along the rocks.

"No, not yet." Shane followed, the footing getting increasingly more uneven as they move towards the cliffs. "Careful. It's slippy as fuck."

Ryan came to a sudden halt, turning to look him in the eye. At least, what he thought was his eye. "I think we need to talk."

"Ah. So here's the real reason you came out."

"No, it's not. I- Shut up. Just hear me out for a minute."

Shane waited, hands on his hips. "Okay. Talk."

"Oh, I was waiting for you to tell me to shut up or something. Uh, okay." He cleared his throat, keeping the torch aimed at the ground. "We need to cooperate more. Like, actually cooperate."

"I have been saying cooperation is key since the beginning, Bergara."

"Oh, you've been saying lots of stuff," replied Ryan dryly. "But you haven't exactly been doing anything."

Shane opened his mouth to object, reluctantly swallowing his acidic response. "Fine. Fine, I'll take the first step. I'll take the first major step towards the unionization of Madej and Bergara." He paused, realizing that words can indeed leave a bad taste in your mouth. "I think you could be right. I think it's pretty plausible that Von Emster was murdered."

Ryan bit back his celebratory remarks, instead opting to just clear his throat. Act nonchalant. Kick absent-mindedly at a loose rock. "What, uh, what made you change your mind?"

"Being here." Shane gestured at their surroundings, not that Ryan could really see the movement. "It's pitch black. It's fucking freezing. And there's next to no people around. No sane person would go for a quick dip around here, unless they _wanted_ to die."

"Yeah. Yeah, it's not very likely." Ryan raised his torch, accidentally aiming the light right at his coworker's face. Shane yelped in pain. "Oh, shit! Sorry!"

"My fucking retinas, you idiot!" Shane blinked, waiting for his sight to stop swimming. "Jesus Christ, man. Put the torch down. Jesus."

"I didn't do that on purpose. I swear."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Shane turned away, picking his way back across the rocks, and effectively signifying the end of their conversation.

It took them a considerable few minutes to get back to safe ground, the sand firm yet soft under their feet, like sponge. Shane finally noticed Ryan's car parked behind his, turning off his flashlight. It had been pretty decent of the guy to come and check on him. Should he say something? He didn't want to imply that they were _friends_ , though. He glanced at Ryan, who was a few feet ahead of him, torch still on, the light slicing across the sand. Beige sand, green grass, pink handbag, grey rocks-

"Woah, hold on!" Shane turned on his flashlight again, pointing it at where he saw the handbag. "Ryan, look at that!"

The shorter man stared at the bag, eyes wide. "Holy- You think it could be Von Emster's?"

Shane hesitated, holding Ryan back by the shoulder. "Something's off. I didn't see that bag when I got here, and I basically walked right past it."

His coworker was quiet as he thought. "Me neither."

For a long moment, the only sound was the waves, and the grass rustling as the salty wind breezed through it. A solitary bike passed by on the road in front of them, followed by another car, and a motorbike. And the entire time Shane and Ryan just waited, watching the handbag warily, as if it could bite them at any moment.

"You think it was planted?" Ryan finally moved towards it, crouching down to look at it closely. "Like, while we were just around the corner?"

"I- Hey, no touching!" He kicked at Ryan's hands, earning an offended glare in response. "You'll contaminate it! Hold on."

He checked his back pockets for a spare pair of gloves. There was a pair, but they were flaked with dried blood. Ryan pulled a face as Shane simply flipped them inside-out, pulling them on so that the clean plastic was on the outside.

"That... is disgusting," said Ryan, waiting as Shane picked up the bag. "I can't believe you just did that."

"It's just blood, Ryan. It's nothing major."

"It's probably one of the worst things I've witnessed in my life. And my job is to investigate horrible murders."

"Oh, shut up, man. Let's get this back to the station."


	5. The Stalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Shane are confronted by the enigma himself. Things take a sudden turn for the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter isn't quite as long as it might seem, there's just a lot of dialogue lines yknow yerself

_Item: one handbag (1) (pink)._

_Contents: one purse (1). $27.50 (in change). three lipsticks (3). an ID (Von Emster, M)._

"And you only found this last night?" Sara put down the plastic card, raising her eyebrows at Shane. "I wasn't going to tell you, because I wasn't sure if I was allowed, but I also went for a look around the beach yesterday. But I went when it was bright, and I didn't see this bag."

"Really?" He moved away from the report he was filling in, picking up the purse again. He flipped it open. "I don't get it. Maybe it just washed up last night?"

"The tide was only just coming in, remember?" Ryan stood near to the door, watching them as they rifled through Von Emster's old handbag. "As a matter of interest, does her purse still have everything in it?"

Shane rolled his eyes, not looking at him. "Sara, please remind detective Bergara that he is only allowed in my office if he abides by the terms of our earlier agreement."

She nodded slowly, a slight frown on her face. "Uh... Ryan, Shane said to tell you that you're only allowed in here if you, um, stay quiet."

"Sara, can you tell Shane that what I'm about to say is relevant to the case, which means I _can_ talk," said Ryan, throwing a glare at Shane. "Which was also in the terms of our agreement."

"Uh, Shane, Ryan wants me to tell you-"

"Well can you tell Ryan that he is currently making it very difficult to cooperate with him," said Shane cuttingly, not looking up from the small microscope he was using to examine the ID; any fingerprints could come in useful, especially if they're not Von Emster's. "Which is what our agreement was about in the first place."

"You won't even let me touch anything!"

"You aren't in Forensics, Ryan! And you refused to wear gloves."

"You wouldn't give me any!" replied Ryan incredulously, gesturing at the box of blue plastic gloves on the table behind Shane. "I offered!"

"Shhh! Stop yelling, for God's sake." Sara closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I thought you guys were seriously going to try and work together."

"I _am_ trying," muttered Shane, lifting his eyes from the microscope to give her a disapproving scowl. "But there's a 'co' in 'cooperate' for a reason."

"You're the one who won't get down off your high horse, Shane," said Ryan, glowering at him.

"You wouldn't tell me what Knox told you the other day," replied Shane with a simple shrug. "Which I think speaks for itself."

"Fine. Fine! I'll tell you." Ryan moved towards the table, ignoring the taller man's warning glare. "Even though I was planning on not telling you until this whole thing is over."

"Huh? Why?"

"To teach you a lesson about having patience."

Sara interrupted before yet another bickering session could begin. "What was it? What did she tell you?"

"She told me Michelle had a stalker." Ryan stood close to the evidence, close enough to irritate Shane but not so close that the man could say anything. "He was the reason she quit her old job. She used to work in a printing shop, just off Main. He never came into the cafe, though. Knox just said she saw him sometimes, outside the cafe." 

"Are you serious?" Shane straightened up, hands on his hips. "And you didn't tell me this because you were too busy being petty?"

"Firstly, you were being an asshole," replied Ryan. "And secondly, I didn't technically have to tell you, because it's not relevant to Forensics. It's only really relevant to my division."

"You're a fucking idiot, Bergara. You can't just not tell me vital bits of information because you're throwing a hissy fit."

"You would've heard it firsthand if you hadn't been so impatient."

"Are you guys even trying at all?" said Sara exasperatedly, looking from one to the other. "You really have to stop doing this. You have to start working together. As a team. Like the rest of us. Because me, Helen, Brent and Steven are all finding it pretty difficult to work efficiently under two head detectives who can't even hold a civil conversation. You're withholding information from each other one minute and are then almost physically fighting in the corridors the next. It has to stop."

For a moment, the two detectives were silent. An outburst like that from Sara was a rare thing indeed.

"That's rich, coming from someone who was betting on when we'd fight," said Ryan, trying to appear nonchalant but looking a tiny bit ashamed nonetheless. 

She turned her gaze to Shane, who looked away, folding his arms across his chest. He could still feel her staring, like a teacher who was forcing a bully to apologize to another student.

"Right. Okay." Shane sighed heavily, making it clear what he thought about his next sentence. "Why don't we - meaning me and you, Ryan - go back to the cafe and see if Knox has anything else to say." He paused before finishing his suggestion. "And this time I won't try to leave early. I'll be _patient_."

Ryan watched him warily, as if waiting for the offer to transform into some joke at his expense. "Okay. Cool." He hesitated. "...Thank you."

"Uh... You're welcome. I guess."

"Look at this," beamed Sara, hands on her hips. "You're showing each other basic respect! I'm proud. Now get out there and solve this case."

 

* * *

 

 

The cafe's parking lot was still as bitterly cold as it had been last time. Ryan rolled up the window, waiting in the warmth of the car for a moment. Shane seemed reluctant to go out into the cold, too. What also didn't help was the spots of rain beginning to appear on the windows.

"What were you going to say earlier, anyway?" Shane kept the engine running, just for a few more minutes of heat. "About the stuff being in her purse."

"Hm?"

"You asked me if all her stuff was in her purse. Credit card, and money and stuff. Which it was."

"Oh yeah." Ryan shrugged, watching as the breeze rustled the leaves of the scarce bushes outside. He already wished he brought a coat. "I was just gonna say that if the bag had been there since her body was found, then it probably would've been robbed or something by now. Or at least opened."

Shane shrugged on his jacket, killing the engine. "Yeah, you have a point. Why are you smiling?"

"Because you just admitted that I have a point. I don't think I've ever heard those words come out of your mouth before."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man. I- Wait, do you not have a coat with you?"

Ryan sighed wearily. "No. I didn't think of it."

"Hold on, then." Shane turned around in his seat, the upper half of his body disappearing into the back of the car. "I think I have... something... It's not much, but- Yeah, here."

Ryan caught the scarf and hat chucked at him, pausing. "Huh?"

"Put them on. It looks freezing out." Shane raised an eyebrow at him. "Unless you don't want them?"

"No! No, it's, uh, it's very considerate of you...?" Ryan pulled the hat on over his head as Shane pushed open the door, stepping out into the icy wind. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." His coworker leaned down to look at him, one hand still on the car door. "I'm serious. Do not mention it. To anyone."

The cafe was just as empty as last time. Ryan was pretty certain it was the same old man drinking a cappuccino as last time, too. On a closer look, the guy didn't actually look _that_ old. His biker beard just made it seem so. He was maybe late fifties? Maybe they should ask him a few questions, if he was a regular. Denise Knox didn't seem surprised to see them again. She gestured for them to come over, eyebrows raised hopefully.

"Any news?" she asked, glancing from one to the other. "You guys look frozen. Especially you."

Ryan had to pull down the woolly scarf a bit so that he could speak without his voice being muffled. "Is it always so cold up here?"

"Ha, yep. Want a coffee? It's on the house."

A few minutes later and they found themselves sitting in the window, sipping coffee as Denise rambled on about Michelle's home life.

"She seemed a bit of a hippy, you know? One of those people that you think is nice, but then again they might not be. Especially considering where she lived."

"Yeah, what's with that?" Shane rested his head on his hand as he spoke, the other cradling his mug. "Do you know if she was involved in anything? Was she into drugs?"

"The most I ever knew of her doing was just smoking a joint every now and then." She shrugged. "I didn't think of it as that big of a deal. And as I said, she was hippy-ish. Nothing like cocaine or anything, though." Denise paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. "I think she went out with some guy. Some drug dealer type. I think they used to live together."

"And what happened? Was it a bad break-up?"

Ryan noticed the milk mustache on top of Shane's real mustache as the man talked, but decided not to point it out. He still had to have fun, right? 

"I didn't get the impression that it was, but I didn't really get any impression of what happened in general." Denise made a face, lips pressed together. "She was pretty secretive, most of the time. Well, not secretive, but reclusive. Minded her own business."

"And the stalker?" Ryan lowered her voice, even though the cafe was essentially empty. Even the old man had left. "What about him? Did you ever see him up close?"

"No, I- Holy shit." She got to her feet, keeping her voice hushed. "It's him. It's the stalker. He's coming in."

Shane and Ryan kept their heads down as the bell above the door tingled. Denise vanished out of their view, the sound of a murmured transaction going on at the counter.

Keeping his voice lowered, Shane leaned forwards, casually bringing his mug up to his mouth. "Should we bring him in?"

"I don't know. I don't think you can just arrest someone because you think they stalked someone." He whispered the last word, keeping his eyes on Shane's to prevent himself from staring at the mystery stalker. "I think the victim has to file a complaint."

"The victim is dead, Ryan."

"Which means he's not really a stalker anymore, is he?"

"He's a suspect, Bergara," hissed Shane, feeling himself getting irritated at his coworker's hesitance. "A pretty damn important one."

"I don't know if we can arrest someone for that!" replied Ryan sharply. "If we fuck up now, we'll lose him forever."

"I've never seen you boys around here before."

The two detectives froze, slowly sitting back into their seats. Shane casually adjusted his jacket to hide the badge on his belt.

"We don't come here a lot," said Ryan, flashing his smiliest smile. "Since it's so hard to get to."

The stalker was a lot younger than they expected. He looked around thirty, with thick dark hair and glasses. To be honest, he was quite attractive. He didn't look like a guy who would have to resort to stalking, anyway.

"Coffee's good, right?"

"It's okay, I suppose."

Shane stayed quiet, allowing Ryan to continue the chatting. Something was off. Denise had disappeared. And there wasn't a coffee being made for the guy beside them. The isolated location of the cafe was suddenly very unsettling indeed. 

"Listen, I've just got to tell you boys something." The strange man pulled over a chair, the legs scratching loudly off the floor as he did so. He plonked himself down on it, resting his elbows on the table, as casually as a friend would join them. "I know exactly who you are and exactly what you're doing. And I'm here to give you one opportunity to stop the investigation. One. And if you don't, you'll face the consequences. Understand?"

Ryan sat perfectly still, holding his mug so tightly it was a wonder it didn't shatter in his hands. Shane, on the other hand, was not as intimidated.

"If you know exactly who we are, tell me my middle name," he challenged.

"Alexander," replied the stalker immediately.

"Okay. And what's my favorite color?"

The man stared at him for a moment. "Green."

"Fuck."

"One chance to stop poking around, got it?" The guy stood up, sauntering out of the shop and disappearing down the hill on his shiny black motorbike.

Ryan and Shane sat in silence for a few minutes, feeling their coffees slowly going cold. The shorter man spoke up first.

"What the absolute fuck was that?"

"I have no idea." Shane got to his feet, crossing to the counter and giving it a single loud slap. "Denise! Hey, Denise! Hello?"

Nothing. He moved around the wooden counter, heading towards the small kitchen in the back. It was empty.

"Dude, be careful!" Ryan appeared behind him, anxiously glancing at the door. "We should go."

"Where the hell did Denise run off to?" Shane glanced under the large table in the center of the makeshift kitchen, on which vegetables in various stages of dicing still lay. A trap door lay just under the table. "Oh. Fire escape?"

"Huh?" Ryan joined him. "Why the hell would there be a fire escape that leads underground?"

Shane shrugged. "Let's find out."

"No." Ryan grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Shane. No."

"What? Why not?" He shrugged the offending hand away, dusting his sleeve off. "Denise is definitely down there. Ryan."

"Yeah, but we also just got threatened by a crazy man who is most likely waiting to see us leave. You can risk your life all you want, but you're not dragging me into your shit."

Shane took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Even though I very much want to ignore what you're saying and check the very intriguing trap door anyway, I won't. Because we're _cooperating_ now. I-" He paused, catching a glimpse of himself in the shiny metal refrigerator. "Hey! I have a fucking milk mustache, Ryan!"

The shorter man cracked a grin as his coworker angrily wiped it away with the back of his sleeve. "Yeah, sorry."

"How long have I had that for?!"

"Um, almost the entire time."

Shane narrowed his eyes at him. "Stop laughing, you son of a bitch." He stormed out of the kitchen, heading for the door. "I can't believe you let me sit there like an idiot."

"No one else pointed it out either!" replied Ryan, hurrying after him. 

"Oh yeah, I can't believe the crazy stalker didn't point out my milk mustache. Give me that back." Shane yanked his hat off Ryan's head, ignoring his protests. "Suffer."

They drove back down the hill, both keeping an eye out for the man who had threatened them. They were both on edge, but there was something undeniably exciting about the situation too. It was like an episode of CSI or something. Except not as crappy, hopefully. 

"We're not closing the investigation, right?" said Ryan once they were back on the main road, the beach just to their left, stretching on and on.

"Absolutely not." Shane cracked a playful smile; his eyes crinkled as he did so, almost a smile in themselves. Ryan realized he'd never really seen the man smile before. "If someone tells me not to do something, I've definitely got to do it. And I know you're the same."

Ryan laughed. "Yeah, maybe. But I- Hey, Shane. Slow down."

His coworker did so, looking at him. "What? What is it?"

Ryan's eyes were glued to the window, his hands pressed against the glass. "That's Denise. That's Denise! How the fuck did she get down to the beach so fast?"

Shane's spun the steering wheel around, the car veering off the road and onto the grass, where it skidded to a halt. "Where? Where is she?"

"There! Oh shit, she's seen us!"

She was briskly walking away, the walk quickly turning to a run. Shane and Ryan scrambled out of the car. Shane cursed as his arm got tangled in his seat belt. He saw Ryan take off after the woman, running like he was Bruce Willis in Die Hard, Shane's scarf flapping in the air behind him like a mini cape. The distant sound of a rumbling engine made the taller man freeze, whipping around to stare as the familiar motorbike descended down the hill towards them.

"Oh Jesus. Ryan!" Shane threw himself into the driver's seat, leaning over to the open passenger door as he fumbled with his keys. "RYAN!"

The shorter man skidded to a halt at the tone of Shane's voice, eyes flickering from him to the approaching motorbike. "Oh, fuck! Fuck fuck fucking fuck!" He began running back towards the car, less Bruce Willis in Die Hard and more Shaggy in Scooby Doo. "Start the engine! Go!"

Shane pulled onto the road, the passenger door still swinging freely. "Come on, Bergara! Hurry!"

He felt Ryan land in the seat next to him, so heavily he slammed into him. Shane cursed as the car swerved dangerously as a result before flooring the accelerator. His heart was thumping so hard it was a wonder it didn't burst out of his chest and onto the dashboard.

"He's stopping," panted Ryan, using the side mirror to get a good look. "He's stopped where we were. Holy fuck. I can't breathe."

"Calm down, man. It's okay now. We're good." He still drove a tiny bit over the speed limit, however. "You okay?"

"Yeah. No. I think so." He sat back in his seat, tugging off the scarf. "Are you?"

"Yeah." He kept his eyes on the road, willing himself to relax. "That got out of hand very quickly."

 

 

* * *

 

"You guys okay?" Brent peered at them from his desk as they hurried past, an eyebrow raised. "You look very flushed."

"Mind your own business, Bennett."

"Shut up, Shane," muttered Ryan, ushering him into his office and closing the door behind them. "Right. Right, do we tell anyone about what just happened?"

"I don't know. I mean, did we just blow the one chance we had to stop the investigation? Because if we did, we're dead either way."

"That's true." Ryan hesitated, hands on his hips. "But if we tell them, would that put them in danger?"

"Shit." Shane linked his hands on top of his head, eyes closed as he thought. "Shit, probably. The less they know, the better, right?"

"Right." Ryan crossed the room to his desk, pulling open his drawer and taking out his gun. "I'm going to keep this on me for a while. I'd suggest you do the same."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." 

A light knocking on the door made them both jump, instinctively moving closer together. 

The superintendent pushed open the door, poking her head in. "Hey, how's the investigation going?"

The two detectives waited for the other to speak for a moment, before both answering at the same time.

"Fantastic!"

"Brilliant."

She gave them a suspicious once-over. "Good. Unexpected, but good. Helen and Sara have gone down to the beach to help set up for a search. They gave me Edwin Decker's interview summary to give to you. Also, I have a warrant here to search Von Emster's appartment. Brent said you'd need it."

Ryan took the files, smiling at her. "Thanks, boss. We'll get right on that."

"Good luck, boys."

The two detectives shared a concerned look once she'd left. But both were too stubborn to back out now.

"The Warzone it is, yeah?" said Shane gingerly. "Will we go tomorrow? I want to get one more night's rest before I potentially die a horrible death."


	6. Warzone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and Ryan venture to the 'Warzone'. A discovery is made on the beach.

It was early. So early that it was still dark. That time of day where it feels like no one else exists yet. It certainly felt like that to the one man in the station. Everyone else had gone home, because they didn't have to worry about someone potentially trying to murder them. He'd been on edge for hours, every tiny movement making him jump. It probably didn't help that he was glued to a conspiracy documentary about the death of JFK. In the dark too, since he'd forgotten to turn on any lights all night. These shows freaked him out for days after he watched them. So why did he always do this? Oh yeah, because he was an idiot.

Ryan glanced up at the sound of movement among the cubicles outside. Papers rustling as they fell to the ground. He froze, listening hard, pulling the one earphone from his ear. Should he go and see who was there? What if it was the stalker guy? The sound of paper scrunching as it was picked up made his fingers curl into fists, his heart racing, blood turning cold. There was definitely someone outside, walking around the cubicles. At half three in the morning. 

Slowly, silently, Ryan got to his feet, picking his gun up off the desk. He stayed low - being short was useful sometimes - as he moved to the door. He peered out into the dusky darkness of the office. No one was there. Well, not that he could see, anyway. 

On cue, the lights in the small kitchen flickered on. Edging along the wall, Ryan leaned sideways so that he could see into the room. The kettle was boiling. And suddenly, he knew who it was.

"You didn't go home either?"

"Fucking- Jesus Christ, Ryan!" Shane leaned against the counter, clutching his heart. "You don't do that to a person!"

"Sorry! I thought you would've seen me."

The taller man sighed heavily, one hand on his hip, the other resting on the counter. "You scared the hell out of me. Don't do that. Just... Walk around with a balloon tied to you so I can see you from now on, yeah?"

"Ha ha. No." Ryan sat down on the table, legs swinging. "Why are you still here?"

"Probably the same reason you are." Shane took a mug down from the press, pausing before taking out a second. "My apartment doesn't have the comfort of CCTV to deter potential murderers, unlike this place."

"Yeah. I was too scared."

"Were you just sitting in your office in the dark?"

Ryan paused. "I forgot to turn the lights on."

"How do you forget to turn lights on?" asked Shane, pouring the two cups. "Were you watching some weird documentary again?"

"Well... Okay, yeah. I was." He took the offered mug, smiling. "Thanks."

"No problem." He gestured at the gun in Ryan's hand. "Were you just gonna _shoot_ whoever you thought was in the office?"

"I honestly don't know. Is that bad?"

"A little bit, yeah. Aren't we meant to try and restrain an attacker before firing a weapon?"

"You're not gonna snitch on me, are you?"

Shane shook his head, smiling. "No. I'm not a snitch. Unlike you."

The shorter detective had the decency to look a little bit ashamed. "Yeah... I was an ass that day."

"Yeah, you were. But I was ten times worse." Shane raised his mug like it was a beer. "But look at us now, baby. Crime-fighting duo of the century."

Ryan laughed, a bright sound in the dark morning. "Yeah. Sure. Except right now we're both too scared to even go home."

Shane burst out laughing. "Oh my God, you're right. We aren't fighting crime. We're hiding from it."

For a moment, they just laughed. And it was nice. And it was easy. And Ryan began to realize that he liked seeing Shane laughing. It suited his face. 

"But about the whole search warrant thing," continued Shane after he'd caught his breath. "How do we get out of that?"

"I was thinking about it." Ryan glanced at him, all wide-eyed and puppy-ish. It was endearing, really. "I don't think we can. Not without making the others think something's up. And we agreed not to tell them."

"Right." Shane took a big gulp of coffee, checking his watch. "Is it too early to just go now? We might as well just get it over with."

"You think?"

"Yeah." He put down his mug, leaning back against the counter. "I'll go by myself, if you want."

"No way." Ryan hopped off the table, slipping his gun into his belt, all action-hero. "Her neighborhood is called the Warzone, remember? You're not going in there alone."

"I'm not scared, Ryan."

"I'm not scared either, Shane."

They stared at each other for a long moment, not moving. Both were indeed very scared. Both were also refusing to show it. 

"Then let's go," said Shane, still holding the shorter man's gaze.

"Cool." It was not cool.

"Great." It was also not great.

Helen was just arriving when they were leaving, making her way precariously up to the front entrance with a pile of papers so high her head was barely visible. "Hey, guys. Where are you off to?"

"Von Emster's," replied Shane, taking his keys from his pocket as he passed her on the stone steps. "Decker let slip that Michelle may not have been as normal as previously thought. Apparently she was involved with some of the drug stuff-"

"Yeah, I finished the interview," she replied flatly. "I wrote the summary for you guys."

"Oh, shit, you did. Sorry."

"You think she was transporting some stuff?" asked Ryan, taking some of the papers off Helen's pile and giving Shane a disapproving look as he did so. " _I'll_ help you in with these, Helen."

"Thank you, Ryan." She headed back in through the doors with him, leaving Shane waiting outside, looking a little bit put out. "You and Madej sure are going a lot of places together."

Ryan blinked as he put the files down on her desk, turning his head to frown at her. "No we're not."

"First, the cafe. Then the bar. Then the beach. Then the cafe again. And now Von Emster's apartment?" She gave him a look, eyebrow raised as if she knew the meaning of life but just didn't care to explain it. "That's a lot of places for two people who apparently don't like each other."

He could feel his face reddening at what she was implying. "We're the head detectives, Helen. We're meant to do stuff together."

"Um, no you're not. It's not protocol." She shrugged, sitting down on her chair and scooching it in to her desk. "Also, was that Shane's scarf I saw you wearing when you two came into the office the other day?"

"You- It's not what- He offered it to me because I was cold," replied Ryan heatedly, straightening up. "Because I forgot my jacket. You're thinking too much into this. I- We didn't-"

"Hello?" Shane leaned in the door, eyebrows raised. "You coming or what?"

Helen smiled at Ryan, who scowled back. "Go on then, Ryan. Don't leave him waiting."

"Shut up, Helen." He turned away, storming back across the office towards Shane. "You couldn't just wait in the car, no?"

"I- Woah, what's with the attitude?" Shane let the door swing closed behind them, frowning as Ryan basically ran down the steps. "Where are you going? We're using my car."

"No, we're using mine." Ryan took out his keys, pacing towards his car. He could feel Shane getting closer behind him.

"Hey, hold on a second." Shane grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around. "What the hell is up with you? Did I do something in the _two seconds_ you were with Helen?"

Ryan shrugged his hand off, folding his arms across his chest. "Why do you just assume that you're driving, hm?"

"Are you being serious right now?" Shane looked entirely confused, but also quite irritated. "If I insulted you by offering to drive, I sincerely apologize."

"You don't sound that sincere."

"Oh yeah. It's because I'm not."

Ryan scowled at him. "Let's just go, yeah?"

"Yeah. Fine. In _your_ car, if it's that important to you."

 

* * *

 

It was called the Warzone for multiple reasons, it appeared.

First of all, it looked like one. Rubbish littered the streets. Graffiti covered the walls, and some cars too. It wasn't the artsy type of graffiti, though. Every alley looked like it housed various nightmares. The people who passed by were all equally suspicious-looking; hoods covering their faces, hands shoved in their pockets. It felt like they were in another country, not just a ten minute drive from the station. 

"We could not stick out more," muttered Shane, sinking lower in the seat as a gang of what was presumably bored youths passed by. "I am probably the whitest white man within a five mile radius. I took an improv comedy class once, Ryan. That's how white I am."

"There's white people around here too, Shane. Don't be racist."

"Hey, I'm not being racist!" Shane sat upright, scowling at him. "There's white, and then there's white white, Bergara. I'm white white! Look at me! At least you're... well, ethnically ambiguous."

"Huh?" Ryan threw him an offended glare. "Are you saying I look like a drug dealer?"

"What? No. No, you're too..." _Cute? Cuddly? Sunshine-y?_ He thought for a moment. "...small."

"Fuck you, dude." Ryan pushed open the door, climbing out and squinting up at the building. "You sure this is it?"

"I still think we should've gotten less glaringly federal outfits, Ryan." Shane moved around the car to join him, hands on his hips as he studied the apartment complex in front of them. "We're sitting ducks out here."

"It's a bit late for that."

"It wouldn't have been if you had listened to me on the way here," replied Shane, throwing a moody look over his shoulder at his coworker as he strode towards the door. "Instead of giving me an unprovoked silent treatment."

The corridors were like something from a Jason Bourne film; dim, flickering lights, suspicious stains on the walls, fraying carpets, and an overall tinge of green to everything. They could hear various noises as they passed by the different decaying doors; televisions, children squealing, a few people just shouting. It wasn't a nice place, to be quite honest.

"Decker said fourteen, right?" Ryan stopped outside the door, looking at the chipped numbers on the door. 

"I don't know. Did you not bring the interview summary?"

"No, I thought _you_ were supposed to bring it."

Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, physically restraining himself from slapping his coworker across the head. "Right. Right, let's just move on. We'll just ask a neighbor."

He knocked loudly on number fifteen, stepping back, hands in his pockets. It opened almost instantly, so quickly the breeze ruffled Shane's hair. It was as if he'd been waiting for them.

"Hey Ryan, look who it is!" Shane pointed at the old man as if he was a statue or something else insentient, and not a living human. "Old Man from the cafe!"

Ryan stared at him, stunned by the man's blatant outburst. "You're an idiot, Madej."

"Come in," said Old Man suddenly, glancing up and down the corridor. "Quickly. Come on."

Shane sauntered in immediately, followed by a more reluctant Ryan, who was too busy mentally killing his coworker to actually stop and think about the risk they were taking. The Old Man Who Wasn't Even That Old closed the door behind them. He didn't offer for them to come in any further.

"That's her apartment next door," said the man, his mouth masked by his fuzzy grey beard. "She was good. She was a good woman who got caught up in bad shit. I'll tell you what I know, as long as I'm granted completely anonymity."

Shane nodded as Ryan shook his head. The two of them shared warning glares, so sharp they almost caused sparks as they hit off each other.

"We promise," said Shane firmly, turning his gaze back to the man. "Complete anonymity."

The old man quickly glanced out the peephole before turning back to them. "She transported for some guys around here. She started off small, just some weed, maybe some cocaine. She'd sneak some every now and then. Pocket it. But she got up with the big guys. The big guys who did not fuck around. But she kept taking the stuff, she didn't understand how dangerous it was."

"Who's the big guys?" asked Ryan quietly, his gaze flickering towards the door. It wouldn't take much to bust it down, that was certain. "How big are we talking here?"

"Cartels. Colombian, Mexican, the big ones." The man dropped his voice even lower, his eyes growing sad behind his bushy eyebrows. "I'm only telling you this because... Michelle was like a daughter to me. She really was. It broke my heart to see her go the way she was going."

"Was it the cartel who killed her?" Shane realized he had his hand hovering just at Ryan's back, as if ready to push him if anything happened. He quickly dropped it. "What cartel was it?"

"I... I can't tell you that. They've got eyes everywhere. And ears, too." He opened the door, ushering them back out into the hall. "Don't bother checking her apartment. They cleaned it. And don't trust the cafe. It's not what it seems."

The door was shut in their faces. They stood in the dingy corridor for a moment, in various stages of shock.

Ryan turned to his taller counterpart, mouth still hanging open slightly from the sudden information overload. "What the _fuck_."

"We should go. Now." Shane turned the man around, guiding him back towards the door. "We- Oh fuck. Is that a motorbike?"

He felt Ryan's shoulders tense under his hands at the sight of the shiny black vehicle, parked just in front of the car. "Holy shit, dude. Do you have your gun?"

"No, I didn't think of it!"

They ducked under the stairwell, an action that was considerably easier for one of them.

"You didn't think of it?" hissed Ryan, flicking the safety off on his own gun. "You knew where we were going and you didn't think of bringing your gun?"

"Oh shut up, Bergara. I didn't bring it because the streets can't handle me." Shane narrowed his eyes at his coworker. "I'm a damn animal on the streets. You can't _touch_ this, Ryan."

"Shut the fuck up before I kill you and then myself. I-"

"Shh!" Shane clamped a hand across Ryan's mouth, hard enough to accidentally bang the man's head off the steps. He felt the man inhale sharply. "Shh. It's him. He's coming in. Oh fuck. _Fuck_."

He could see half the Stalker's body from where they were, watching as the man removed his helmet. Shane shuffled sideways, pulling Ryan with him, willing himself to breathe quietly. He could feel Ryan's shaky breaths on his hand, visibly trembling, his eyes wide, locked on Shane's. The sound of footsteps passing by overhead echoed in their heads. They seemed to go on forever, gradually getting quieter. And quieter.

"Go!" mumbled Ryan through his coworker's hand, pushing him. "Go, for fuck's sake!"

They hurried out onto the street, running to the car and yanking open the wrong doors. It was habit, really. Ryan risked a glance behind them, up at the building. Did the guy just live there, or was he there for them?

"Get in, you idiot!" Shane leaned across him, slamming his door shut. "Jesus, are you asking to be spotted? Give me your keys!"

"Get off me and drive, would you?"

Shane sat back in his seat, biting his lip as he tried to suppress a grin. "Hey. Hey, watch this."

He floored the accelerator, the engine revving loudly before the car jumped forwards. The motorbike slipped onto its side upon impact, skidding along the road as Shane hit the brakes. He turned in his seat to reverse, enjoying the look of complete shock on his coworker's face.

"Why the hell did you do that?" Ryan was staring straight ahead, holding his head between his hands, eyes wide. "What made you do that?! Are you insane, sir?"

"I'm an animal in the streets, Bergara." Shane glanced in the rearview mirror at the retreating apartment building. "I told you like, a few minutes ago."

 

* * *

 

 

They were going straight to the cafe. There was no debate about it. Well, there was one debate. But it wasn't about going to the cafe.

"It's my car, Shane!"

"Yeah, but you gave me your keys to drive it."

"That was in a life and death situation. It's a bit different."

Shane pulled a face, the scenery whipping past as they drove down the main road. The beach would be coming up at any moment. "Mmmm, is it though?"

"Oh my God, yes, it is. You're not even insured on my car."

"Duh. Unless we're secretly married and you never told me."

Ryan felt himself flush at the suggestion, staring straight ahead. "Don't be stupid."

"I'm just- Ryan, are you _blushing?_ " Shane stared at him, mouth hanging open in an incredulous smile. "Oh my God you _are_."

"No, I'm not. Eyes on the road, Shane!" He glared at him, arms folded across his chest as he slouched in his seat. A moody child. "Why are you smiling about it, hm?"

"I- Hey, don't try and flip this around." Shane laughed, lowering the radio. Goodbye, _Abracadabra_ by Steve Miller Band. This is more important. "Are you _crushing_ on me, Bergara?"

"I'm not!" He gave him an impatient scowl. "You're being stupid. Turn the radio back up."

Shane gladly did so, loudly singing along as they drove, dramatic gestures included. " _Every time you call my name, I heat up, like a burning flame. Burning flame, full of desire, kiss me baby, let the fire get HIGHERRRRR-_ "

"Shut up, Shane! Look." He pointed down to the beach, frowning. "Isn't that Helen? And Sara? And there's Brent and Steven."

"Oh shit, Ryan! We were meant to help them with the search, right?" Shane veered off the road, pulling up along the sand-covered grass. "I actually don't think we're late. Maybe by like, five minutes?"

"But the cafe," mumbled Ryan, sighing wearily as Steven waved at them from down on the sand. "We couldn't just keep driving, could we?"

Shane grimaced. "That's even a bit too rude for me, man."

Within minutes, they had reluctantly joined the rest of their team. They were babbling excitedly as they organized how to approach the search.

"I'll go with Helen," grinned Sara, high-fiving her coworker. "Girl powerrrrrr."

"Hell yeah," grinned Helen, before turning to Ryan and Shane, eyebrows raised. "That leaves Brent and Steven, because I'll assume you two are going together, yeah?"

Shane frowned at the look thrown between her and Ryan. "Uh, yeah. I guess. Something up?"

"Nope," smiled Helen, waving goodbye as she took Sara by the arm and headed off towards the dunes. "Have fun, everyone! But not _too_ much fun, yeah?"

Steven and Brent chose to scour the beach, Steven bouncing off ahead, Brent trudging behind him, like a puppy being brought for a walk by a man who just had his 100th birthday. Shane and Ryan moved towards the rocks in silence, one enjoying the ocean view to the right, the other particularly interested in the cliffs to the left. The cafe was just visible on the cliffs, its roof peeping over the rolling grass. So close, yet so far. 

"Let's do this quick, yeah?" said Shane, clambering onto the rocks. "Then we can get to the cafe and see what's up."

Ryan nodded, hopping up after him. "Yeah. Cool."

"Maybe we'll actually find something this time."

"That'd be nice."

"Since it's bright and all."

"Mmhm."

The silence lingered, despite the fact they didn't stray more than a few feet from each other. It was a strange situation; they were simultaneously comforted by each other's presence and uncomfortable because of each other's presence. Well, perhaps not _uncomfortable_ , but definitely not at ease. They wandered closer and closer to the cliffs, as if the cafe was physically reeling them in, like fish on a hook.

"Wooah, did you feel that?" Shane stepped back into the sudden icy breeze he'd felt, sucking air in through his teeth as he felt it again. "Holy fuck, Ryan. Come here."

The shorter man frowned at him. He looked particularly small against the backdrop of the looming cliff edge. "What? What is it?"

"It's- I can feel a cold wind. Like, really cold." He followed it, weaving in and out of the normal breeze and the icy one. "It's coming from somewhere around here."

Ryan joined him, gasping. "Shit, dude. It's freezing! It's like being up on at the cafe. Or maybe that's wishful thinking."

"Um, I think you're right." The taller detective was on his hands and knees, peering down a gap between the cliff and the rocks.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Ryan appeared behind him, leaning over his shoulder to get a look in the gap before letting out a quiet curse. "Fucking hell, dude. What is that?"


	7. Tunnels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and Ryan find themselves getting increasingly distracted from the case at hand, despite the case demanding more and more of their attention.

"Say it again."

"No."

"Just once more."

"I said no."

"Come on, Shane. That one sentence has given me a new wave of life."

"Look, I admitted that something weird is up. Don't rub it in my face."

Their voices echoed around the cavern. Well, it couldn't really be called a cavern. It was a big too high-tech, like something from a Marvel movie. But it was certainly cavernous; a large empty hall, so big it could've held a cruise ship. All inside a cliff. Doors peppered the smooth metal walls. A few metal racks littered the floor, gathering dust, like abandoned toys. A dim blue light lit the hall up, reminding Shane of his own office back in the station.

"Oh, I'm going to be rubbing it in your face for a long time, dude."

"How dare you take advantage of me in my moment - my very _fleeting_ moment - of weakness." Shane wandered forwards, shining his torch up to the ceiling. The roof was so high the light barely touched it. "What the fuck is this place, man?"

"I have no idea, but it's fucking freezing." Ryan glanced back at the sliver in the rock they had climbed down through. Getting back up may be a problem. "We should go back and tell the others."

"Let's just have a look around ourselves first, yeah?" He continued moving forwards to the center of the room, gently pushing aside one of the metal racks. Its wheels squeaked in protest. "It's pretty amazing, right?"

"I'll have to go with unnerving."

"Come on, Ryan. It's fine! It's also very likely abandoned." Shane tapped his torch off the metal rack beside him, the sound ringing out, a deep echo. "You could snort the dust off these things in lines."

"I really think we should head back. Tell the others what we found."

"Are you serious? They'll just ring Quinta and we'll lose the chance to really have a look around, before it's all torn apart." He turned away, heading towards the doors. "Come on."

"No." Ryan's voice was firm, unwavering. "Don't be an idiot."

"You astound me, Bergara. You really do." Shane turned to him, one hand on his hip, the other aiming the torch at his coworker. "You're constantly watching those conspiracy documentaries, you eat up everything they say. You try and convince everyone that there's _supernatural beings_ among us. You seemingly thrive off stupid conspiracy theories, man. But the second something odd and out-of-place pops up right in front of you, you hide under the nearest bed."

"Shut up. I don't." 

"You do. And, to be honest, I'm sick of it."

Ryan narrowed his eyes at him, head tilted slightly to one side, a strange mix of baffled irritation on his face. " _You're_ sick of _me?_ "

"No- Don't twist my words." Shane gave him an impatient scowl. "I'm sick of what you do. How you act about this stuff. Just _commit_ , Ryan!"

"Don't try and talk to me about commitment, Madej. You're the one who stamped Von Emster's murder as a shark attack just to get it over with."

"Oh, you're going to drag that up again, are you?" They were inching towards each other with each sentence, accusatory pointing and various other aggressive gestures having a free-for-all. "You're bringing up old shit because I haven't done anything else-"

"Oh, what? You think you've _changed?_ Surprise, Shane. You haven't. You're still a total fucking asshole."

"What the hell is with you recently?" Shane glared down at him, adjusting his glasses like an angry old man trying to read the paper. "One minute we seem to be getting along just fine. The next you're giving me damn silent treatments, or just straight-up ignoring me. And now you're acting like you used to act."

"Oh? And how did I act, hm?"

"Like a little pompous bitch, Ryan. Truth be told."

Ryan stared at him for a long moment, willing him to take it back. To apologize. It was hopeless, however. This was Shane Madej he was talking to, the only other man on this planet as irritatingly stubborn as himself. Shane simply stared back, that look on his face like he was just _dying_ for Ryan to say something back, to keep the argument going. And it was tempting. Oh boy, it was tempting. But he was going to resist.

"You're a fucking dick, Shane." Hmm. Mission failed.

"You're the one whose been pushing this murder theory as far down my throat as fucking possible, Ryan. You've been pushing, and pushing, and eventually I gave in. I stuck it out. And I stuck it out with _you_ , of all people. I'm here right now because of _you_." He could see the color beginning to tinge Ryan's face. His stupid munchkin face. "And believe it or not, but I want to see this through till the end for _you_."

Ryan swallowed, searching the taller man's eyes for even a hint that what he was saying was some sort of joke. "For me." The words made him feel jittery. Stupid. Stupid idiot.

"Yes! Yes, for you! Because I'm tired of seeing you get so excited about these things and then never following them up." He jabbed a finger into Ryan's chest to emphasize his words, his voice echoing around the cavern. "You seem so content to leave things as they are, to just accept that that’s the end. That they’ll just remain unsolved forever.”

The shorter man was blinking hard, looking somewhat stunned. "I- I don't-"

"Are you okay with that, Ryan? Just leaving things as they are?" Shane didn't break eye contact. If he did, he might just ruin it. Whatever 'it' was. "Or do you want to help me help you?"

For a moment, Ryan didn't know how to respond. The proximity between them, the heat he could feel off the other detective's body in the cold room was distracting. It also didn't help that Shane's eyes were flickering between his mouth and his eyes, as if he didn't even notice. As if he couldn't help it.

"Okay," breathed Ryan, softly, so as not to shatter the air around them. "Okay."

"Okay what?" Shane's voice was weirdly apprehensive.

"Okay, let's go."

"Oh. Yeah. Cool." Shane cleared his throat, looking away. "Let's go."

He turned away from the shorter man, and just like that, the strange tightness in his chest was gone. He could hear Ryan just behind him. Their footsteps were the only sound, ringing out in the dark hall. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them even looked at each other.

The sliding doors were unnecessarily large, large enough for a bus to fit through. With just a lot of effort, Shane pushed them apart, standing between them as he struggled to hold them open.

"Some help, please?" he muttered, throwing a look at his coworker, who was just staring.

"Oh, shit. Sorry." Ryan jumped forwards, taking one of the doors and shoving it further back. The metal grated against the concrete. 

"Woah." Shane's voice was full of awe, and confusion, and just tinged with fear. "What the fuck is going on in here?"

This next room was just as large. Just as cold. Just as dark. But not half as empty. Wire racks on wheels were present, but they were orderly, instead of just roaming free. And they were piled high with neat blocks of white powder. For a moment the two detectives stood still, side-by-side, taking in the sight. Shane's torch drifted across endless amounts of white blocks, going as far as the eye could see, and further.

"Is... Is that all cocaine?" Ryan stepped forwards, picking up a tightly-wrapped block and studying it closely. "How do you know when something's cocaine?"

Shane waited a moment before realizing this question was actually directed at him. "Huh? Why are you asking me?"

"You're the Forensics guy!"

"And? What the hell does that have to do with anything?" He joined his coworker, taking the block off him and squinting at it. "It's cocaine, Ryan."

"Oh, so now you're so sure all of a sudden?" replied Ryan dryly. 

"It's common sense, Bergara! What do you want me to do, snort it?"

"Open it, at least."

"I'm not going to spend the rest of the day off my fucking face just because you don't think this is cocaine."

"I didn't say-"

"What do you think it is? Sugar?"

"Shut up. I just like to be sure."

"Well I am sure." Shane waved the block at him. "Pure cocaine. One hundred percent. No doubt."

"Alright, Escobar. Relax." Ryan rolled his eyes, moving further among the racks. "You still think this is abandoned? Because I sure as hell don't."

"Drug trafficking? Just under our noses?" Shane came to a halt, waiting a few seconds for Ryan to do the same. "Maybe we should go."

Ryan stared at him, eyes wide. "Are you fucking serious?"

"It was different when I thought it was abandoned!"

"You shove me into this situation, but now that you say it's over, it's over?" Ryan turned away, continuing on. "I don't think so, Shane."

"Hold on a second." Shane quickly caught up with him, spinning him around. "Look at this shit. This isn't some petty stuff. This is serious organized crime."

"I know, Shane. That's my division."

"And you're not scared?"

"I'm- Are you?"

Shane straightened up. "No. But you probably are, right?"

"No," replied Ryan quickly. "It's the middle of the day. They're probably not transporting till night."

"You're probably a tiny bit scared."

"I'm not scared," he said through gritted teeth. "But you are. I can tell."

"I'm not," said Shane heatedly. "If you wanna keep going, be my guest."

"Fine."

"Fine!"

Ryan gave him a lingering glower as he turned away, storming off between the racks. "Come on. I can't see without your flashlight."

"You didn't bring a flashlight?"

" _You_ didn't bring a gun to a place called the Warzone!"

"Oh, here we go with this shit again."

" _You're_ the one provoking _me!_ " Ryan turned, so suddenly Shane almost walked straight into him. "You've always been the one provoking me!"

"Bullshit."

"No, it's not. You just like getting a rise out of me."

"I- Fine. I do a little bit." Shane shrugged, eyebrows raised. "You're very easy to get a rise out of, Ryan. It's not my fault."

"Oh, it's all my fault, is it?" Ryan glared up at him, hands on his hips. "You're full of shit, Shane. You really are."

"You know something?" Shane turned his flashlight off, tucking it into his belt. Batteries don't last forever. "I was beginning to think that maybe you weren't that bad. That maybe I could actually start to like you. Well, you've proved me very wrong, Ryan. Because it turns out you're still a little-"

"I don't want to hear another one of your smug rants, Shane." He stepped away, attempting to move around the taller man. "Let's just head back before I do something stupid."

"Hold on, I'm not done." He placed a hand on Ryan's chest, pushing him back to where he'd been standing. "Why are you acting like this? Is it because you have a stupid crush on me?"

"I- I do not have a fucking _crush_ on you, Shane!" replied Ryan incredulously, eyes wide (not that this was very obvious in the dim light). "Don't fucking flatter yourself, yeah?"

"No, no, it's cool," shrugged Shane, resting one arm on the cocaine blocks to his left. "Like, if you've thought about it, I-"

"Thought about it?" Ryan snorted, very much aware of how red his face was. He was probably glowing like a beacon in the darkness. "Me and you? Together? Sexually? No. Nuh-uh."

"I've thought about it."

" _You've_ thought about it?"

"Well, yeah." Shane shrugged, clearing his throat. "Like, once. But only once, because then I quickly realized that it would _never_ work out between us."

Ryan stayed silent, arms folded across his chest, unsure of how to continue. "Yeah. You're right. It wouldn't." He paused. "But as a matter of interest, why do you think that?"

"Because you drive me fucking insane, Ryan!" His voice rang out, bouncing off the walls. "With your stupid theories and your stupid sense of superiority! Oh, and who owns so many fucking caps?"

"That annoys you? My caps?" Ryan laughed sharply. "Well if we're going to get _that_ petty, I have a list a mile long for you, dude."

"Hit me, Bergara. The roast of Shane Madej starts now." 

"Your gloves in work. You never take off your fucking gloves even if they're literally _covered_ in blood! Why the hell would you think that's okay?"

"I'm a busy man, Ryan! I don't have the time to leisurely remove my gloves every five minutes."

"Well what about-"

A loud clunk, followed by another, and another. Shane and Ryan simultaneously whipped around, watching as the large ceiling lights flicked on row by row, advancing towards them, bathing the entire hall in blinding light.

"Door! Door door door!" Ryan pushed his coworker forwards, sending Shane stumbling. "Run, you idiot!"

They stayed low, scurrying back through the racks of cocaine like mice through a maze. The sound of voices made them pause, Shane instinctively grabbing hold of Ryan's shoulder to pull him back. A female voice, distant, talking about shipments. A familiar female voice.

"Denise?" mouthed Ryan, a confused frown on his face. 

Shane nodded, looking up to the ceiling. Something was beginning to slide together in his head, clicking into place, like a mental puzzle. If they were in the cliffs right now, then what was above them was the cafe. And judging by the amount of doors dotted along the walls, this place was even bigger than it seemed. And perhaps extended upwards. 

"This entire side is heading to Miami." Her voice could've been getting closer, but the echoing made it hard to pinpoint her position. "Heading out tonight. Marco is coming by at midnight to start getting it moving."

"Midnight exactly?"

Oh shit. The Stalker. Ryan felt Shane's hand tighten on his shoulder, so hard it hurt.

"Yeah, he's pretty punctual." Their footsteps sounded like they were getting closer. It was hard to tell. "You take care of that old guy?"

"Yeah. Just there. It'll look a bit fishy, but it'll blow over, considering where he lived."

"Fire?'

"Yeah."

"Sounds cleaner than what you did to Michelle."

Ryan turned around to his coworker, mouth hanging open, stunned. Shane shook his head. _Talk later. Not now_. First they had to get out of here unscathed.

He placed his other hand on Ryan's other shoulder, steering him towards the doors. They were just visible over the racks, the metal gleaming under the light. The footsteps of Denise and the Stalker seemed to be coming from all around them. 

"Someone nailed my bike, though. Scratched it up." A pause. "I think I saw those cops outside. Or their car, at least. Did they drive a silver one?"

Ryan threw a worried look over his shoulder at his coworker, who shrugged before gesturing for him to keep moving.

"I haven't seen those two around in a while." It didn't take much thought to understand who Denise was referring to. "You think they got the message?"

"I don't know, really. The short one seemed scared, but the tall one seems to be a bit of a tool."

Ryan suddenly stopped at the end of the row, backing up, pushing Shane backwards. He turned to him, gesturing for him to be quiet. He pointed at the doors. Shane understood instantly, pulling the shorter man further away down the aisle. They stayed silent, holding eye contact, anchoring each other down. If they couldn't see anyone else around them, maybe _they_ couldn't be seen either. 

"There's nothing through there, Fred. Just the old storage. We stopped using it when that gap appeared in the rocks."

"Oh, right. Why are the doors open then?"

"Oh, I don't know. I haven't been down this far in a long time." The grating sound of the doors being pushed closed followed. "I'm gonna head back up to the cafe."

Their voices began to recede, their footsteps getting quieter and quieter. Shane and Ryan stayed where they were, even after the lights had been turned off. The silence was deafening. All that could be heard was the swelling water just through the rocks, and the shaky breathing of the two detectives.

"Come on." Shane hurried towards the door, feeling Ryan just behind him. "Let's get out. Pronto."

* * *

 

Their car sat alone, isolated up on the road. The team was nowhere to be seen, not a single sign of them. Shane stood by the water for a long moment, hands on his hips. It was beginning to get dark, a dusky purple sprinkled with stars stretching out to meet the endless black sea. He needed to think. He needed to process what they'd just seen, what they'd heard.

"Do you believe me now?" Ryan was pacing up and down the sand beside him, hands linked behind his head, the image of panic. "Michelle was fucking murdered, Shane. And it sounds like Old Man was too. That's probably why that guy was there when we were! And it's all because of a giant organized drug trafficking ring run from a fucking cafe."

"I know, Ryan," replied the taller man somewhat impatiently. "I can put two and two together."

"Then act like it!" Ryan looked like he wanted to shake him. "Stop standing around like you're the Dalaï Lama, gazing out to sea!"

"I'm thinking!" Shane turned away, arms folded across his chest. "Just... Let me think."

"What is there to think about?"

"What to do now! How to go about taking down a full-on drug trafficking system!" He strode along the water, hearing Ryan crunching through the sand behind him. "We can't just go up to Quinta and say 'hey, guess what! The shitty cafe up on the cliff actually has a whole cocaine-transporting system _in the cliffs_ and also they killed Michelle and probably various other people!' Remember what she said last time we went up to her yelling about what we think? She said we needed proof!"

"Shane, stop." Ryan grabbed his arm, bringing him to a halt. "If you believe that, then let's do it."

Shane stared down at him, oddly aware of his coworker's hand tight on his arm. "Do what?"

"Get proof."

For a moment they were silent, watching the other's reaction, the other's thoughts. The breeze was comfortingly warm after the icy cold of the halls.

"Ryan, slow down for a moment. This is ten times more dangerous than what we usually do. This could be FBI-level stuff."

"Just an hour ago you were telling me not to leave things as they are. And you're right. I don't want to leave things as they are." Ryan put his free hand on Shane's other arm, firm yet gentle. "I want to solve this."

Shane swallowed. "What do you mean? Just us?"

"Just us." Ryan suddenly dropped his arms, and his gaze along with it. "And, like Helen and them too."

"Yeah. Duh. Obviously." Shane laughed, scratching the back of his neck. "So, uh, will we head back then?"

"Yeah." Their eyes met for a split second, and for some reason Ryan found he couldn't hold it. He turned away, heading back towards the car. "Come on. Let's go."

The walk back to the car was made in silence. Shane used to count long periods of silence from Ryan Bergara as a blessing. Now he just found them... tense. They left room for thoughts. Thoughts that he found weren't always appropriate.

"Why do you think the others bailed?" he asked as they finally got to the car, just to fill the silence with something. "Weird they didn't say anything, right?"

Ryan shrugged, opening the driver's door. "Guess we'll find out when we get back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the little delay with this chapter and also it's probably overflowing with typos, I did it on my phone while on a break in work lmaooo kill me


	8. Terrible Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OOPS they did that

“Are they in Ryan’s office  _again?_ ” 

“Nope. Shane’s this time. Hence the reason I’ve been relocated up here.” 

Steven appeared out of the kitchen, precariously balancing four mugs of coffee between two hands. “I’m not the only one who thinks they’re banging, right?” 

“They have to be. You ever see the way Ryan just like…  _stares_ at Shane when the guy’s talking?” 

“I don’t know. He does stare a lot. Like, when I told him about the old man who died in the fire earlier he just stared at me in silence for a minute.” Sara shrugged, leaning back in her chair. Well, it wasn’t exactly her chair, but Steven seemed fine with sitting on his desk. “They both seemed super paranoid when they came in, didn’t they?”

“I went to say hello to Shane and I think he almost passed out from the shock.” Helen sipped her coffee, giving them all a knowing look. “They're hiding something. I’ve been thinking it for a while. They’re having an office romance that they’ve been trying to cover up for years with all their arguing and-”

“Oh, please.” Brent got to his feet, rolling his eyes. “They’re paranoid because this case is getting out of hand. Apparently some drug trafficking is involved with Von Emster’s death now. Ryan told me.”

“Shane told me the same.” Sara pursed her lips, a slight frown on her face. “But I feel like he wasn’t telling me everything. Which is weird.”

“I still stand by my office romance theory,” shrugged Helen. “If not, I’d say it’s just a matter of time.”

“One hundred dollars that they’ll go back to the way they were the second this case ends,” challenged Brent, grinning. 

“I’ll take that,” replied Helen firmly. “And let’s double it.”

“I want in,” said Steven, slapping the desk to get their attention. “Two hundred that they’re basically in love.”

“You’re all idiots,” said Sara dryly. “But I’ll side with Brent on this one. Two hundred they'll stop talking after the case has been solved.”

* * *

"I really don’t think this is a good idea, Shane. We only have two and a half hours until midnight. When that Marco guy is going to arrive and move the stuff.”

“We just grab some cocaine and haul ass out of there. It’s pretty foolproof.”

“Will a few blocks of the stuff really be enough for Quinta to believe us?”

“It’s cool. We’ll snap a few photos too.” Shane smiled at him, kicking his feet up on his desk with an inappropriate air of nonchalance for the situation at hand. “Really, it’ll be fine.”

Ryan shook his head, pacing back-and-forth in front of the desk. “You’re honestly infuriating when you’re like this. Don’t you understand that one slip up could mean a bullet through our heads?” He placed his hands on the desk, leaning forwards. “Von Emster was missing a goddamn leg, Shane. They took her leg off and just let her bleed out. You wrote the fucking autopsy report! You saw what they did to her! She had a broken neck as well! She was fucked up, dude!”

Shane was silent for a moment, the red pen in his hand just resting at the corner of his mouth. “We’ll be careful.”

Ryan stared at him, waiting for him to continue. “That’s it? We’ll be  _careful?_ ”

“You’re stressing me out, Ryan. Shut up for a minute.” He got to his feet, gesturing at the shorter man with the pen. “You won’t be careful if you’re on the verge of a panic attack. Relax.”

“Relax.” Ryan looked like he wanted to hit him. “You really just told me to relax.”

Shane gave him a wry smile, an almost fond one. “Look, if you don’t have any other alternative plans, then we better go.”

“Jesus Christ, dude. You really don’t give a fuck.”

“Your constant panicking is making me feel more in control of the situation,” shrugged his coworker, heading around the desk to the door. “Now let’s go before you actually do take my advice and relax.”

Ryan suddenly stepped forwards, placing a hand on the door handle before Shane could. He simply held it closed, as firmly as he held Shane’s gaze. The taller man found himself frozen in place, one hand halfway to the door. His mouth was suddenly very dry. For some reason he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t blink. Ryan was so close, close enough that Shane wouldn’t even have to move forwards if he wanted to kiss him. Shane mentally shook himself.  _What? What?!_

“You have your gun?” asked Ryan flatly. “I really don’t think you should forget it this time.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I have it.” He smiled. “You have your torch?”

“Ha ha. Yeah, I do.” 

“Then let’s go.”

“Okay.” He didn’t take his hand off the door, still holding it closed, his face slowly slipping from amused to anxious. “What if we don’t come back?”

“Don’t think like that, man.”

“I can’t help it. It’s a possibility.”

“But it’s also a possibility that we slip in and out no problemo.” 

Ryan let his hand drop back to his side, eyes closed. “I hate you because you’re right.”

“That’s always been the reason you’ve hated me,” grinned Shane, attempting to lighten the situation somewhat. Attempting to make Ryan smile.

“I don’t hate you,” replied his coworker quietly. “I never really did. I just got pretty close sometimes.”

“Mmm, I’m gonna have to say I intensely disliked you. But you’re alright now, I guess.” Shane felt the smile slip from his face the second Ryan’s eyes landed on his. He swallowed as the shorter man stepped forwards so that they were barely a foot apart. “Ryan..?”

“Just in case we don’t come back,” said Ryan, his voice barely a whisper. “I… I just want to try something.”

Shane nodded, his breathing shallow, uneven. He was afraid to speak. He didn’t want to break whatever was about to happen. He heard Ryan swallow, heard his trembling breaths as he lightly placed a hand on his shoulder.

 _Knock knock knock_.

They sprung apart like they’d been electrocuted. The door opened almost instantly after the knocking, meaning it was the one other person who was truly comfortable down here; Sara. 

“Hey guys, I-” She paused, looking from one to the other. “Uh, I have results from the DNA found at the fire. Nothing, um, major.”

Shane cleared his throat, extending a hand for the results. “Yeah, thanks. That’s great.”

Ryan was avoiding her gaze, suddenly very interested in the floor. He rubbed at his nose. He distractedly scratched his stubble. He did so many casual gestures that they were anything but.

“Just interesting to note that Von Emster's apartment was also burnt up," said Sara, unwilling to leave quite yet. "You’re looking a bit red there, Ryan.” She struggled to keep the smile off her face. “Looks like you guy are busying yourselves down here, yeah?”

“I said thanks, Sara,” Shane replied firmly, giving her a warning look. 

“You look a bit pink, too.”

“ _Thank you_ , Sara.” Shane gestured for her to leave, now. Or else. 

She did so, biting her lip to keep the grin off her face. It disappeared the second she realized she could be about to lose two hundred dollars, however.

The two detectives stood in silence for a long moment, listening as Sara's footsteps receded. Shane flicked through the DNA results, so quickly there was no way he was reading them. He chucked them onto his desk. He wasn't sure how to go about ignoring what had just been about to happen. Mainly because he didn't want to ignore it. In fact, he wanted anything but.

"Let's go then," said Ryan suddenly, heading for the door.

"Hold on." Shane stuck his hand out across the doorway, blocking his coworker's path. "What were you going to try?"

Ryan shook his head. "It wasn't important. Let's just-"

"Just tell me, Ryan!" He was demanding, bordering on desperate for, an answer. "What was it? What were you going to do?"

"What do you _think_  I was going to do?" replied Ryan sharply. "But it doesn't matter now! It's over!"

"What's over?"

"The moment! The timing! I don't know!"

Shane shook his head. "No. No, it's not."

Ryan squinted at him. "Did you want me to?"

"Did I want you to kiss me?" Shane rolled his eyes, attempting to appear nonchalant. "No. Kind of. I mean, well, yeah. But not until just there."

"Oh." The shorter man could feel the heat rising to his face. "Okay. Then... Then why don't _you_ just do it?"

"Hold on a second there. _You_ were the one about to kiss _me_."

"Well you're the one who apparently wants it more!"

"I'm not-" Shane narrowed his eyes at him. "You were the one who initiated it."

"You're the one who's thought about us being a thing!" replied Ryan quickly. 

"I told you that was only one time!"

"Liar."

"I'm not lying!" said Shane heatedly. It was a different sort of heat than what he was used to with Ryan, however. It wasn't the sort that made him want to grab him and shake him. It was the sort that made him want to grab him and... and do other things. To him. With him. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm not lying. It was once."

"That's still one more time than me."

"Now _that's_ a lie. You literally just tried to kiss me."

"We don't have time for this, Shane!" Ryan suddenly stepped around him into the dark forensics office, snatching up his coat off the empty examination table. He could hear his coworker right behind him. "We have to-"

He felt the taller man's hand on his shoulder, firmly turning him around to face him. Then he felt Shane's lips on his, a rough kiss, hard yet soft. Ryan kissed him back instantly. He felt Shane’s hands immediately rest on his waist, pulling the shorter man against him. Ryan’s lips were as soft as they looked, although his scratchy stubble counteracted this. Their mouths moved against each other, all fire and ice. And it wasn’t enough. Ryan slipped an arm around Shane’s neck, pulling him in as the kiss deepened, his free hand gripping a fistful of his shirt. Shane reacted instantly, maneuvering Ryan somewhat roughly back against the examination table, feeling the sharp breath against his mouth as Ryan hit against the metal. He let out a low moan as Ryan’s fingers tangled themselves in his scruffy hair, pushing himself against the shorter man, so forcefully that he had to place a hand on the table to stop them from potentially falling over. It was all passion and desperation, hands everywhere, thoughts nowhere. 

“Shane.” Ryan’s voice was hushed, breathy, his mouth hovering centimeters from his. “Shane-”

“Shut up,” interrupted the taller man, beginning to fumble with the buttons on Ryan’s shirt. “Shut up. I mean it. Take off your clothes. Right now.”

“Shane!” Ryan suddenly grabbed his wrists, holding them away. As much as he didn’t want to, he had to. “We have to go. Remember?”

Shane opened his eyes, his gaze resting on Ryan's mouth. “Barely.”

They stayed where they were, bodies pressed together, breathing heavily. Ryan couldn't see much in the dim light, but he could feel Shane's heart racing, he could feel his lips just centimeters away, so close they were practically touching. And he could feel the weight of a terrible, terrible mistake on his shoulders.

“Stop." He released Shane's wrists, shaking his head. "We- We have to go. We have to... The drugs. We have to work."

Shane turned away, crossing back to his office to get his coat. He stood in the doorway. Ryan stood across the room. still leaning against the table. They needed the distance for a moment. They needed room, both physical and mental, to get back on track. Shane rubbed his forehead like he had a particularly bad headache. _Stupid. Stupid idiot_. He shouldn't have done that. He should _not_ have done that.

 

* * *

 

 

The car ride was awkward, to say the least. Not a single word was uttered. At least the beach was only a ten minute drive. But then again, it might as well have been ten hours. By the time they got to their destination, Shane found himself feeling tired, as if he'd just run to the beach instead of driven. He killed the engine, and the lovely silence-filling radio with it. They both scrambled to get out of the car. Silence meant thoughts, and now thoughts apparently meant actions. Shane took a deep breath before turning to look at Ryan.

"You have everything you need?"

His coworker nodded, looking at him for a fleeting second. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah." 

"It's quarter to eleven. We have some time."

Shane blinked. "Huh?"

He could almost feel Ryan blushing. "No! Wait. I didn't mean- I wasn't _implying_ anything. I was just saying that we have time."

"Oh, yeah. I know." Fucking hell. This was awful. "Um, yeah. Still, we should get this over with quickly."

"Yeah."

They moved across the beach, the sand a ghostly white in the dark. It was still warm, despite the time. Humid, even though the sky was clear. They could see a small fire further down the beach, surrounded by people who looked like ants from this distance. Ryan hugged his coat around himself. They were actually quite alone, despite the fact that the main streets were just a short drive away.

"Ryan, look." Shane pointed up at the cliffs. "The cafe's lights are on. You know any cafes they stay open till eleven at night?"

He paused. "Some do. Why?"

"What if they've started moving stuff early?" 

"Well... If they have then we're screwed, right?"

Shane smiled, more of a grimace. "Right."

The rocks were ten times more treacherous in the dark. Neither risked turning on their torches; it wouldn't be very good if they ran into the place guns blazing. Ryan skidded on a hidden piece of kelp, grabbing hold of Shane's jacket. Yesterday, he would've held on. Now, he let go almost instantly, allowing himself to drop to one knee, cursing loudly at the sharp pain. 

"Shit, man, are you okay?" Shane helped him back to his feet, holding him steady. "Why'd the hell you let go of me?"

Ryan rubbed his knee, using the taller man as a means of balance. "Because- You know why, Shane. Don't play innocent."

He could hear the smile in his coworker's voice. "Hm? I'm not! I was just wondering why-"

"Oh, what?" mimicked Ryan, pretending to adjust an imaginary set of glasses. "Playing innocent? Me? I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Whatever, man." Shane rolled his eyes, moving on. "I won't show you any such sympathy in the future, then."

"Yeah. Don't."

They followed that strange cold breeze to the gap, kneeling down to peer into it. Was it still empty? Shane switched on his flashlight, shining it down into the cavern. No reaction from any potential occupants. He looked to Ryan, who threw him a concerned look. 

"Look, I'll go first." Shane turned off his flashlight, perching himself on the edge of the gap with just a little bit of difficulty. "Then you follow. That cool?"

Ryan nodded, glancing around the rocks. "Yeah. That's good."

"Hey, man, listen." Shane smiled at him, not that it was evident in the dark. "It'll be fine." Hopefully.

He slid down into the hall, wincing a bit at the landing. His footsteps echoed. It was still untouched, just like the last time. He turned on his flashlight, watching as the dust particles leisurely floating past the light. 

"Come on, Ryan." He could see the man's silhouette through the gap. "It's all clear."

"Okay, cool. I..." His coworker's voice trailed off. "Shit. Shit, I think I can see someone."

Shane's heart leapt. "Huh? You sure?"

"Yes, dude! They're walking over!"

"It's probably just someone going for a walk," insisted Shane, shutting off his torch, his heart racing. 

"No, Shane! They're coming towards me!" He heard a scrambling sound as Ryan got to his feet. "Fuck! There's more of them!"

"Are you serious? How many?" Shane ran his hands through his hair, backing away. "What do they look like?"

"Oh, fuck! It's him!" Ryan's silhouette disappeared as he began running, vanishing from the gap.

"Ryan, wait!"

The sounds of shouting followed. Flashlights cut through the air. Shane could only listen, his hands shaking, heart thumping so hard he was beginning to wonder if he was having a heart attack. A single gunshot stopped his heart altogether. His hands flew to his mouth. He listened. He listened so hard he thought his head might explode.

There was nothing but silence.


	9. A Shark Named Denise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane accidentally gets high. Ryan loses his phone for a little bit.

Shane let himself be dragged into the room, essentially chilling as the two men carried him. They looked pissed. The Stalker looked pissed. Denise looked pissed. They all looked very pissed off in general. Shane gave them all a wide-eyed look as he was dumped in the center of the room, his hands bound behind his back. They had caught him almost instantly, so why did they all look so annoyed?

Well, _maybe_ he had put up a little bit of a struggle as they'd tried to catch him. _Maybe_ he'd knocked over a rack or two or five. _Maybe_ he'd kicked around in the spilled cocaine like it was snow, just to make it valueless, while his pursuers attempted to grab hold of him. And _maybe_ he could feel said cocaine buzzing around his bloodstream, making him feel just that tiniest bit braver than he usually would be. 

"What?" he asked, looking at the gathered group. "What is it? Is there something in my teeth?"

The Stalker was staring at him from over the rim of his glasses. "That your car that was on the road?"

"Hm? Oh, no. Mine's silver." He paused. "Perfect for smashing up motorbikes, actually."

"That was-" The man's eyes widened. "That was you?!"

Shane smiled at him. "Oh, most definitely."

The punch hit him clean across the face, sending him sprawling. Well, it was relatively hard to sprawl with his hands tied behind his back, but he sure did fall flat on his face. 

"Woooo, baby!" He managed to get back to his knees, his cheek already turning a light red. " _Good_ morning!"

"The idiot's fucking high," muttered Denise, rolling her eyes. "On top quality cocaine. He probably doesn't even appreciate it." 

"Hey, I'm not like a regular cop. I'm a _cool_ cop." Shane giggled like a child, eyes squeezed shut. "That was a _Mean Girls_ reference, if you didn't get it."

"Oh my God, shut up." Denise turned to the Stalker, sighing heavily. "He's too fucked up to question properly right now. Just let him come down in here. Then we can kick this plan into action."

Shane was watching them closely, a slight frown on his face. "Hey. What you guys talking about?"

"Shut up," said the Stalker impatiently, rolling his eyes. "Look, I'll try and get the short one. Little fucker was faster than I thought."

 _Ryan got away_. This single thought broke through to Shane's mind, sobering him up for a few seconds. _Ryan got away. Ryan's safe_.

"We're gonna get some shit from Marco for the wasted coke," said Denise, gesturing for a few of the gathered henchmen to join her. "But just tell him that we'll get it sorted. We'll get all this brushed under the carpet very soon, actually. As soon as we get hold of that cop."

"Ryan's the best cop in North America," interrupted Shane, making the two throw him flat looks. "He's like... He's like Rambo. Or, or Bruce Willis in _Die Hard_. He's fucking cool as shit. He could kick all your asses. And mine. Probably at the same time."

"Someone gag him. Please." Denise threw the Stalker a warning look. "Don't let the little guy get back to the station. That's your main objective here, right?"

"I already have some guys after him," replied the Stalker, following her out of the room. "He seems to be making a beeline for the station... cut him off... won't take long..."

His voice quickly vanished as the door to the room was shut. Shane attempted to get to his feet, but was quickly shoved back down to his knees by one of the two men left with him. 

"Hey, man, watch it," he snapped, throwing a dark look at the two of them. "You're lucky I haven't busted out of here already. I'm an animal in the streets. You can't handle me. You can't _handle_ me. I could take both of you right here right now. You don't know me. You don't know what I'm-"

The gag silenced him almost instantly. He let out a muffled curse as he fell backwards, kicking out at the man trying to tie it. Shane Madej will not be silenced so easily.

Except, well, he was.

 

* * *

 

Ryan flew down the alley, footsteps pounding, the overwhelming smell of gasoline and general garbage in his nose. He knew that the shortcuts he was taking probably weren't the safest, but he'd rather face a crazy junkie than what was following him. It had begun spitting rain, the sort that you weren't aware of until suddenly you were soaked. He had his hood up, his sleeves pulled down to act as makeshift gloves. He pulled Shane's scarf up over his nose, both for the comforting warmth and for the equally comforting smell of Shane's aftershave. It was strange, how the presence of the scarf grounded him. It was as if he could hear Shane's voice in his ear, telling him to calm down, man, you'll be fine, just focus. 

Ryan ducked behind a bin to catch his breath, clutching the stitch in his side. He could only hope Shane was okay. That he hadn't been spotted. That he'd stayed low, waiting in the empty storage hall for him. Actually, waiting wasn't exactly a talent of Shane's, so it was more likely that he'd been caught. Ryan closed his eyes, feeling his breathing slow. His heart remained racing, however. Racing at the thought that Shane could be locked in some room somewhere, going through what Michelle Von Emster had gone through... Stop, Ryan. Don't think like that. Just get back to the station, tell the others what happened. 

God, it would be so much easier if he still had the car. He'd almost made it to Main when he saw the black jeeps blocking the street ahead. He had practically tucked and rolled out of his car, ignoring the angry shouts that followed as he disappeared into the smaller side streets. He'd gotten away, yes. But in his haste to do so, had left his phone and his gun in the glove box of his car. He just had to get back to the station. Quickly. He had to get help, he had to tell them what he and Shane had found. 

He moved off down the alley, staying low, listening to the light pattering of the rain on the damp concrete. Jesus, it was dark. And _quiet_. What time was it? Where were all the cars? Was he even going the right way anymore? He was pretty certain, but then again...

The sight of the main road made his heart leap. The lights glowed in the dark, illuminating the rain, the tarmac tinted a light orange. The station - and safety - should be just around the corner. He hesitated as he got nearer to the path, sticking to one side of the alley in his effort to get a glimpse of the station. His jacket quietly scraped off the side of the wet brick as he edged closer to the openness of the road. He should just run. Or should he? Should he try and signal someone in the station? Maybe there wasn't even anyone in there right now. God, he wished Shane was there to help sift through his panicked thoughts. A car zipped by, making him freeze up. Okay, Ryan, just go. Just go for it. 

Any potential plan was swiftly dashed as a black SUV pulled up on the curb just in front of him, blacked-out windows glinting. He then felt the unmistakable feeling of a gun being pressed into his back, hard enough to push him forwards a step. Ryan stood still, closing his eyes, his shoulders slumped. He had spent all that time giving out to Shane about being impatient, yet here he was, about to die because he was a bit _too_ patient. The irony was overwhelming. He was pretty sure it was going to give him a headache. 

The car door swung open, its interior just as dark as its exterior. "Get in."

* * *

The cafe again. The fucking cafe. If Ryan never saw it again it would be too soon. He was basically dragged from the SUV in their haste to get him inside. Yup, still freezing, but being on the cliff at night allowed for the thin grating in the ground to be more obvious. The light shone from the rooms below. Underfloor heating, meet overfloor cooling. It was smart, he had to admit it. Keeping the drugs nice and icy cold for relatively no cost.

"Jesus Christ, dude," he snapped as one of the men shoved him towards the cafe doors. "I'm going. Yikes."

The inside was still as nice and warm as when he'd first wandered in, that day when he had wanted to strangle Shane for even just looking at him. Now here he was, wrapped up in Shane's scarf, and so concerned for his coworker's well-being he thought he might throw up. Were they still just coworkers now? They hadn't really had time to discuss what had happened... The thought of it made him feel strange. He had liked the kiss, most definitely. But he couldn't help but think about the fact that his past self wouldn't hesitate to punch his present self square in the face. 

"Down here, come on." The man in front of him shoved the large table in the kitchen aside, pulling open the trapdoor. "Hurry up."

The room below was dimly lit by glowing blue lights, like those in an aquarium. Ryan swallowed, letting himself be sat down at the only table in the center of the room. The trap door was shut almost instantly, leaving him alone, isolated, with nothing but his thoughts whirring around his head. The room was silent but for the low howling of the wind around them, the dull rushing of the water down on the rocks far below, and the thumping off his heart in his chest. He was going to fucking die, he could feel it. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself down. _Focus, Bergara. Come on_. 

The only other door swung open, revealing a bright corridor, people with lab coats striding past. In walked Denise, sans her kind barista smile, and behind her the Stalker. And behind him a very welcome sight indeed.

"Shane!" blurted out Ryan, relief washing over him even as the door was shut, plunging the room back into the eerie darkness. "Holy _fuck_ , you're okay!"

His coworker lifted his head, his eyes brightening. He let out a muffled shout, the gag still doing its job. The Stalker handed something to Denise before turning back to Shane, pushing him down to his knees. It was all very orderly.

"What's with the gag?" asked Ryan, trying to keep the clear concern from his voice. 

"He's an asshole, that's why," replied the Stalker with a shrug. Shane shrugged as well.

"This is your phone," said Denise, showing him the device. "I'm not going to let you pretend it's not. You left it in your car."

Ryan stayed silent, keeping his eyes on Shane's, who looked just as straight-up terrified as he did. 

"Now, you're going to unlock it." Denise placed the phone on the table, like a teacher handing back a student's phone. The Stalker disappeared from sight, into the dark further reaches of the room. "And you're going to ring your boss, and you're going to tell her that Michelle was indeed eaten by a shark, and that you've found Michelle's clothes, and that the case is closed."

Ryan watched her warily, keeping his hands under the table, far from the phone. "And if I don't do that?"

"Your friend loses a limb."

On cue, the Stalker returned, a chainsaw in hand. An actual chainsaw. He didn't start it, there was no need quite yet. He simply kicked Shane over, following him as the detective scrambled backwards, an incredibly difficult task with one's hands bound behind one's back. 

Ryan shot to his feet so violently his chair skidded backwards. "Stop! Don't touch him!"

"Call your boss," said Denise calmly, as if Shane wasn't letting out muffled cries as the chainsaw roared to life, his back up against the wall. 

"This is for my bike, you bitch!" shouted the Stalker over the head-wrecking sound of the chainsaw. Shane squeezed his eyes shut, biting down on the fabric between his teeth so hard it was a wonder he didn't bite right through it. Any second now he'd feel the metal tear into his leg, or his arm. He could barely hear Ryan's desperate voice over the screeching engine.

"FUCKING STOP!" shouted Ryan, his hands shaking as he snatched his phone up, stumbling forwards against the table. His legs were like jelly. "I'LL DO IT! STOP!"

True to her word, Denise raised a hand, and the roaring of the chainsaw ended. Shane slumped against the wall, eyes still closed, chest heaving, the smell of hot petrol filling his head. He realized the zip-tie was cutting into his wrists in his subconscious efforts to escape the chainsaw, to escape captivity. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, he'd fall asleep in this truly awful nightmare, and wake up in real life. Maybe this was all just a dream he was having as he slept at his desk. Maybe he'd wake up and he'd actually still be trying to prove his shark theory while Ryan tried to prove his murder one. It was a comforting thought, until he realized that would mean he basically had a sex dream about Ryan. Hmm. He opened his eyes at the sound of his coworker's shaky voice. 

"Quinta? Yeah, hi. I know it's late, but this is important." He stood, eyes glued to Shane's, one hand on the desk. He had to prop himself up or he might just pass out from the stress. "It's about Von Emster. It's okay. It was a shark. I know, I know, but we- we found her clothes, and some other stuff, it all points towards a shark. Mmhm. No, yeah. It does. It was a shark."

Shane watched the Stalker closely as the man casually swung the chainsaw back and forth. The guy had his phone out, texting away. The time read 12:35. The cocaine would probably be on its way out now, just a couple of hundred meters below them. The thought was infuriating. 

The phone call ended. Ryan leaned down, burying his head in his arms, the phone clutched in a white-knuckled grip. All that for basically nothing. Everything they'd done. For nothing. 

"Now you're going to go for a walk by Sunset Cliffs," said Denise in an almost bored drawl. "And you're going to have a fall. That okay with the two of you?"

The gag was finally pulled off. Shane swallowed, his mouth uncomfortably dry. It could've been from the gag, or it could've been from the stupid cocaine. He had been acting like a total tool, it was true, but at least it had only been a little bit.

"We can't choose our own cause of death, no?" croaked Shane as he was dragged to his feet. "I'm full of inspiration from my work."

"Shane," said Ryan in a low voice, giving him a quick shake of the head. "Not now."

"Oh, they'll know we didn't fall," shrugged Shane as the two detectives were escorted from the room. The people wandering around the corridors didn't even give them a second look. "I mean, my wrists have marks from being bound, which is a little bit of an indicator. And-"

"Maybe we'll just get rid of your hands, then," said the Stalker quietly. "That'd solve that."

Ryan glanced back over his shoulder at the man, his coworker snorting in disdain. "Since when does a fall from a cliff cause your hands to fall off?"

"Exactly, Ryan." Shane grinned. "You know, this is kind of all the reasons why we twigged Von Emster was murdered."

"Well, _one_ of us twigged."

"Yeah well we're both here about to die, Ryan, so I'm sorry for taking some of your credit." He tried to say it light-heartedly. He wasn't sure if it worked.

"Michelle was a sneaky bitch who was stealing our coke," said Denise matter-of-factly. "She knew the risk, and she did it anyway. So she faced the consequences. Just like you're about to."

Ryan raised a hand to hold one of Shane's bound ones, the man gripping his hand back anyway. "...You run all this from a cafe?"

"It was passed down to me. Not that it matters."

"So why did you let us in?"

"To try and throw you off, idiots. Then when you kept coming back, I rang Fred."

"Fred?" Shane raised an eyebrow back at the Stalker, who scowled at him. "Your name is Fred? That's not that scary, man."

"Well you look like an inflatable tube man," he shot back.

"Look, I'm about to die here. Have some respect for the about-to-be-deceased."

"Jesus Christ." The Stalker looked at Ryan. "How do you stand this guy?"

Ryan shrugged. "I used to want to kill him, to be honest."

"I wish you had."

"All three of you can shut up, please," said Denise sharply as the small group advanced towards large double doors. "I told you we shouldn't have taken the gag off the tall one."

The double doors swung open, revealing the beach on the opposite side of the cliffs than Shane and Ryan had been on. Sunset Cliffs were visible just in the distance, looming black shapes against the gradually lightening sky. Shane turned his head to find that Ryan was already staring up at him, eyes wide in fear.

It was going to be a long drive.


	10. Can someone PLEASE twig something is up?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team want to find out who wins the bet. Quinta wants to find her lead detectives. Shane and Ryan want to live their last few moments alive to the max.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i had to extend it by a chapter because i have a firm ending but a loose way of getting there lmao just like my life

"I'm telling you, it looked like they'd been up to something funky down there."

"They're the lead detectives on the case! They were just working!" 

"How many other lead detectives do you remember spending so much time together?"

"Well did they _look_ like they'd kissed or something?"

"Kind of?" Sara kept her eyes on the road ahead, the beach just to the right, bonfires sprinkled across it like glowing confetti. "Either way, they were up to something."

"Perhaps they were hiding something," persisted Helen from the passenger seat. "Like a secret relationship. As I've been saying for-"

"Oh my God, Helen, you're such a fangirl." Brent rolled his eyes. "I don't even know why we're looking for them."

"To find out who owes who two hundred dolla bills!" Steven grinned at the flat look Brent threw him. "You're just scared because you're about to lose."

"I'm not scared in any way at all, Steven."

"Lies, Bennett. Lies."

Sara squinted down at the rocks below the cliffs, adjusting her glasses. "Are those people down there?"

It was true. The dark rocks were bustling with tiny dark shapes, moving around like ants on an ant hill, back and forth between the cliffs and a steady chain of boats. 

"It's probably just stupid teenagers," shrugged Helen. "It's the bonfire night thing, remember? It's probably overflowing with underage drinkers. But we _are_ off duty right now..."

"Should we hit that up though?" asked Steven, leaning forwards to rest his head on Helen's seat. "Underage drinking is a no-no, right?"

"First we find Shane and Ryan," said Sara firmly, the car lights illuminating the empty winding road ahead. "And find out who wins this bet and who loses. That is of utmost importance, I think we can all agree. We have the time now, since the case was closed."

"That was weird, right?" Brent glanced at his three coworkers, eyebrows raised. "Quinta made it sound like Ryan just... backed off. Gave up, almost."

"That did strike me as a bit strange alright." Helen looked back at him. "And there was nothing from Shane. Quinta said she tried ringing him and he just didn't answer. It didn't go through to voicemail, though. He just kept hanging up."

"And then neither of them being home?" Sara frowned. "It's all giving me a weird feeling. Something's up."

"They're not home because they're probably on a _daaaaate_ ," sang Helen, letting the last word ring out.

"Shut up, Helen!" Brent reached over to slap at her. "Jesus, my eardrums."

"So if they weren't in either of their apartments, and they're not in the station, then where could they be?" Sara paused, deep in thought. The others were silent too.

"Bonfires?" suggested Steven.

"Not unless they've suddenly turned 16," replied Sara flatly, as the car wove its way up the cliffs. "Come on. Think date-type stuff."

"They're probably in some bar in town, then," said Helen. "That's the most likely."

"If it's a 'secret relationship' I highly doubt they'll be skipping around town holding hands," said Brent dryly, squinting out the window. "Huh. What time is it?"

"Uhhhh... Half twelve," replied Helen, checking her phone.

"That cafe is still open."

Sara turned to frown at the lights glaring from the cafe windows. "Is it a late night cafe? Do they exist?"

"What if Shane and Ryan went there?" Steven leaned forwards between the two passenger seats, ignoring the disgruntled mutters from Brent as he did so. "They went there a few times, right?"

"Hey, you're right!" Sara spun the wheel, turning into the dimly-lit road that lead towards the isolated building. "Might as well check it out."

 

* * *

 

Shane rubbed his wrists, feeling the indents from the zip-tie, deep in his skin. Ryan was silent beside him, but he could see the panicked look in his eyes as he stared straight ahead at the opposite side of the van wall. They'd tried the double doors already, Ryan banging against it so hard his coworker had to pull him back to prevent him from knocking himself out. The worst was the lack of windows. They could be half an hour away from death, or five minutes. It was-

Shane jumped slightly as his phone buzzed silently in his pocket again. As quickly, as inconspicuously as he could, he slipped a finger into his pocket and hung up. The small grating between their mobile prison and the driver's seat frequently slid open and closed; he couldn't risk taking out his phone, not now. He just had to hope Quinta would get that something was up. She'd rang multiple times by now. Five? Six? If he kept hanging up instead of letting it ring out, perhaps she'd get suspicious. It was a feeble straw he was grasping at, but he was grasping it tightly. 

"I know this might not be a good time to say this," said Ryan beside him, jerking him from his thoughts. "But... the other day..."

Shane paused in rubbing the feeling back into his wrists. "What day?"

"Don't act stupid, Shane." Ryan gave him a a quick sidelong glance, noticing the taller man doing the same. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Ah. Yes, I do."

"Why did you do it?"

Shane stared at him, eyebrows raised. "Why did  _I_  do it?"

Ryan shrugged. "Yeah."

The humming engine filled the silence as Shane continued staring in disbelief. "So you're really going to try and act as if you had nothing to do with why I did it."

"Hey, I didn't actually _do_ anything!"

"I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't kicked the whole thing into action!"

" _You_ kissed _me_ , Shane! I tried to walk away-"

"Nuh-uh! You just wanted me to chase you or something."

Ryan snorted, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd heard in his life. "I've heard some excuses, Shane, but that one, that one really takes the cake."

"Oh, what? You didn't want me to?"

"I didn't say that."

"So you _did_ want me to," replied Shane impatiently. "Which means that you did want me to go after you."

"I didn't say that either!"

"I just- I'm not dealing with this right now." Shane got to his feet, crossing the small compartment to the opposite seat, ducking to avoid hitting the roof. "You're impossible."

"Oh shut up, Shane. We're literally on our way to our impending deaths and you won't admit that you were-"

"Shut up! Shut! Up! For once, just shut up!"

"No! Answer my question!" Ryan pointed at him, his coworker reacting to the gesture like it was a sword being pointed instead of a finger. "Why did you kiss me?"

"Because for some reason I just wanted to!" Shane threw his hands into the air, oblivious to the fact that his voice was getting increasingly and rapidly louder. "Because in the moment I thought 'hey, why not?' Because for some unknown reason, you stopped being so irritating, and start being... being..."

"Being what?" demanded Ryan, eyes fixed on his coworker's. Was this a weird situation to want to kiss someone in? Maybe. "What did I start being?"

Shane stayed silent for a moment, just staring, his hands gripping the metal bench below him. "Not irritating. I don't know. I suppose... I suppose you started being just a tiny bit attractive. To me." He swallowed. "I- I was attracted to you. I _am_ attracted to you, for some inexplicable reason. Not that it matters now. Because we're probably going to die a horrible death."

"Some 'inexplicable' reason?" Ryan raised an eyebrow, but his fake nonchalance was betrayed by the way he distractedly bit his lip. "Care to elaborate?"

"Are you serious? Are you really trying to argue with me right now?" Shane wasn't sure exactly what he was fanning here; a spark, or a full-on forest fire. 

"Might as well die as we lived, right?"

"You're fucking ridiculous."

The grate slid back, a pair of eyes appearing. "Do you two ever, _ever_ , shut the fuck up?"

"Fuck you," replied Shane sharply, feeling Ryan's eyes pinned to him. "Yeah, close the grate, coward. Run away."

And then it wasn't Ryan's gaze that was pinned to him. It was the owner of said gaze. Ryan pushed against him, practically straddling him, his mouth on Shane's, pushing hard enough to press him flat against the side of the van, their bodies flush against each other. _Stupid_ , thought Shane to himself as his hands gripped Ryan's waist, Ryan's fingers gripping his hair just as tightly. _Stupid stupid stupid_. 

"Ah!" Shane broke away as the van turned suddenly, looping his arms around Ryan to stop the shorter man from toppling off him, pulling him forwards again. "Careful, idiot."

"Shut up." Ryan kept one hand tight on Shane's shoulder, the other pressed against the cool metal of the van wall for balance. He leaned down to draw him into another kiss, their tongues brushing, his grip on Shane's shoulder tightening, the shirt fabric bunching up in his hand. Ryan involuntarily let out a shuddering breath as Shane's hands slipped under his shirt, his fingers tracing up his sides. Ryan reached down, fumbling to undo Shane's belt, struggling to focus on this action as Shane's mouth made its way to his neck, eliciting a breathless moan from him.

The buzzing in Shane's pocket made the shorter man freeze, his eyes flying open. "You son of a-"

"Shhh!" Shane clamped a hand hard over his coworker's mouth, his arm firm around the man's waist to stop him from falling over. "Don't say a fucking word, Ryan."

Ryan looked furious as he fought to wiggle out of the arm around him. A muffled curse slipped through Shane's fingers.

"Shut your fucking mouth," hissed Shane. Ryan's hands were gripping his wrists hard enough to hurt. "It's not a trick, I swear! I'm not lying to you or anything! If Quinta-"

The van suddenly jerked to a halt, the two men tumbling to the floor with loud curses. Ryan dove on top of his coworker, reaching into his pocket, trying to ignore the feeling of the taller man writhing underneath him. That time has passed, Ryan.

"Why haven't you used this?" shouted Ryan, holding the buzzing phone in the air. "Have you been lying to me? Are you part of all this? Is this why you pushed the whole shark theory-"

The sound of the van doors slamming closed sent a rush of fear, urgency, and general panic through Shane's body. "Give it back, Ryan! I haven't been lying, I just had to hide it!"

"Bullshit! You were _so_ quick to jump on that shark theory, and you opposed it for _so fucking long_ I-"

"Give it!" Shane shoved himself off the floor with a sudden surge of adrenaline, carrying the shorter man forwards a foot or so before slamming him back down. The phone skittered across the floor, the buzzing seeming ten times louder against the metal. "You're being fucking crazy!"

The van's back doors swung open. Shane and Ryan went quiet instantly, breathing heavily as they stared at their three captors standing outside. The three men outside had eyes only for the phone, still buzzing gently on the metal, the name Quinta illuminating the screen.

Shane flung himself forwards, slamming the answer button. "Quinta! Sunset Cl-"

The phone was snatched away, flying out into the grass in the distance. Then Shane was dragged from the vehicle and across the dark dirt road, the two men ignoring his struggles and shouts, his furious resistance. They shoved him to the ground, a foot on his chest, pinning him in place like a hunter does a dead deer. Ryan's cries rang out across the cliffs, a blood-curdling scream for help. Then a dull thud, and he was suddenly silent.

"Ryan!" Shane struggled to turn his head, to see the van. "Fucking hell, Ryan! Don't hurt him, _please!_ "

 

* * *

 

 

They'd been abruptly turned away by the woman who owned the cafe. Turned away, back into the icy winds of the clifftop. She'd said she knew Shane and Ryan - her voice was oddly clipped as she mentioned their names - but that they'd only been in twice to interview her, and that was that. She had practically broken Brent's nose in her hurry to close the door.

"That bitch was weird, right?" Helen sat into the car, sitting with the door open as the others crossed the parking lot towards her. 

"Award for Most Secretive Coffee Shop goes to that place," muttered Brent, rubbing his temple. "I'm tired, guys. Let's just call this off for tonight."

Sara opened her mouth to comment, choosing to answer her ringing phone instead, hanging back a few feet.

"Did you-" began Steven, before a chilling scream silenced him.

The group stood in silence, staring at each other. The wind was warm compared to the chills that went through them.

"That- That was Ryan," said Brent, his voice tight. "That was fucking Ryan."

"Car! Get in!" Sara was running towards them, her eyes wide with terror. "We have to get to Sunset Cliffs right now. Get in! Come on, hurry!"

They obeyed instantly, flinging themselves into their seats, the engine roaring to life. They screeched out of the parking lot, spraying gravel as they did so.


	11. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and Ryan almost simultaneously black out. The team do some more searching. Quinta is a badass.

His head was ringing. A high-pitched squealing in his ears. He could feel the soft dirt against the side of his face, under his hands, his shoulder half-buried in it from the impact of his fall. The smell of the sea, the smell of the dirt, so vibrant he could almost taste it.

Yep, he was definitely still conscious. Yet he was also still collapsed on his side on the ground, unwilling to alert anyone to this fact.

"Leave him alone!" He could hear the anger in his coworker's voice, hear the scuffle from just a few feet away. "Let go of me, you dicks! Get off!"

The sound of a punch, followed by something heavy hitting the ground. He could hear Shane gasping for breath, coughing out a curse, infuriatingly close. Another blow, perhaps a kick this time, Shane grunting on impact. Ryan kept his eyes squeezed shut, his fingers digging into the dirt to try and stop himself from running to help his friend. He had to wait until they'd forgotten about him. _Then_ he could run for help.

"You're going over that cliff, pal. And your friend will follow you very soon after."

Ryan jumped at the feeling of a hand on his arm, realizing seconds later that it was Shane's, grip desperately tight. "Ryan, wake up! Come on!  _Ryan!_ "

Oh _fuck_ , this was hard. Maybe there was no point in pretending to be unconscious if they were going to chuck him over within the next few minutes anyway.

The shrill sound of a phone ringing silenced the group. Ryan could hear Shane's heavy breathing as his coworker moved closer to him, a human shield, holding him close.

"Denise?" One of the men answered whatever phone was ringing. "They what? Oh, shit. Right. We'll sort it."

"What is it?" Another one of the men. "What did she want?"

"Apparently a group of cops came by the cafe, looking for these two idiots. She said she saw them head towards us."

"Oh shit. What do we do?"

"Hide the tall one in the van, you two do that. I'll dump the other one behind the bushes, he'll be less hassle, obviously. Then she said to just go back for the rocks and hand them over to Marco." A snarky laugh. "Apparently he wants some personal revenge for the cocaine the tall one fucked up."

The sound of footsteps crunching across the dirt. Shane's grip tightened even harder on Ryan's arm, his heart thumping hard enough for Ryan to feel.

"I'll go," said Shane quickly. "I'll go to Marco. Ryan didn't do anything. Ryan didn't _do_ anything he's _innocent_ it was all _me_!"

Oh _fuck_. If Ryan hadn't already developed a plan in his head he would've jumped up right then and told them Shane was talking shit. Instead he sneakily opened an eye, slipping a hand around Shane's wrist and squeezing. _Thank you_. He felt Shane freeze, his desperate pleading abruptly ending. He was pretty sure he felt the man's heart skip a beat.

Footsteps stomped towards them. "Come on, get up."

Shane let himself be dragged away, giving just enough resistance to disguise the fact that the tables had turned dramatically. _Don't fuck this up, Ryan_. His coworker was literally dumped into the bushes nearby like a bag of rubbish, disappearing into the leaves. _Do not fuck this up_.

 

* * *

 

"Can you see anything?"

"Drive more slowly!"

"I am driving as slow as I can!" Sara had the headlights blaring, all the windows rolled down. "Where the fuck are they? Quinta said Shane said they were here!"

"They're in trouble, they're in big trouble." Steven sounded terrified, his head out the window. "That was definitely Ryan who screamed."

"RYAAAAAN!" Brent shoved Steven aside, squishing him to one side as he stuck his head out the window. "SHAAAAAANE!"

Nothing but the whispering sea, and the crackling of the distant bonfires. Which was somehow reaching the cliffs. And also somehow getting louder. Sara stopped the car, listening hard.

"Guys!" Ryan came flying out onto the road, waving his hands, his wide eyes evident even from where the car was. He was pointing aggressively back towards the cliff edge packed with windswept undergrowth. "Guys, over there!" 

He was running towards them, they were running towards him, scrambling out of the car, guns drawn. A van's headlights flashed on in the dark bushes, blinding them. More lights appeared over their shoulders, slicing through the darkness. A police van. 

"It's Quinta!" Helen raised her gun, aiming at the other van as it roared down the dirt road, quickly gaining on Ryan. It was swerving crazily from side to side. "Stop those guys! Stop them!"

"No!" Ryan glanced over his shoulder, waving his hands desperately at Helen as he raced towards them the neck of his shirt dark with sweat. "Shane's in there! Don't-"

A gunshot rang out. Ryan collapsed to the ground, rolling across the dirt, the stones scratching his skin as he skidded to a rough halt. His shoulder was burning, throbbing, his shirt warm and sticky. He could hear people screaming, more gunshots, the deafening roar of an engine as the van swung past, so close he felt the wind of it on his face. Another gunshot went off as the vehicle went flying past, pain exploding in his side. Then nothing.

Deep, dark nothing.

 

* * *

 

It was quiet. Except for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Each beep gave Shane an unbelievable rush of relief, even though it had been going on for hours now. It was the sweetest sound in the world.

"Shane." Quinta placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "You shouldn't be out of your bed. You know that."

He ignored the hinted advice. "I'm okay."

"How's your arm?"

"It's fine." It had been a clean break, after all. A nice crisp snap. He could have gotten a lot worse in the crash than a broken arm and a black eye, especially with an arm stuck through the grate, slapping at the driver. "The cast is a little itchy, I guess. But I'm okay."

"Sara's wondering if you want a coffee."

He shook his head, not even looking at her. "I'm okay."

She sighed quietly. "Don't stay here too long, alright?"

He didn't reply. He didn't take his eyes from Ryan's sleeping face, not even as the door closed behind him. Leaving him with the steady beeping of the heart monitor. His own heart beat in time. He was surprised his heart was still in one piece, that it hadn't exploded during the whole sequence of events, that it hadn't simply popped when he'd seen Ryan crumple to the dirt road like a lifeless puppet.

The first bullet had gone clean through Ryan's shoulder, entering through his back. But the doctors were more worried about the one in his side, the shot the driver had taken as they'd sped past Ryan, seconds before they crashed into the heavily-armoured police van just in front of them. He himself had blacked out on impact.

But none of it mattered anymore. What mattered was Ryan. At first they hadn't let Shane in, so he'd sat outside the room, panicking, pacing back and forth, agitating every cut and bruise he'd gathered. Perhaps if he had something else to focus on, he wouldn't focus on Ryan.

It hadn't worked.

The doctors said he was in a stable condition for the moment. But Shane still refused to leave the bed. Maybe Ryan was pretending to be unconscious again. Maybe Shane was grasping at straws.

"Well." Shane sighed heavily, resting his head in his one good hand, his nose pressed into his palm. "If someone had asked me a few days ago where I'd be right now, this would've been the very last scenario I pictured. This would've been the nightmare scenario. Sitting beside a hospital bed waiting for Ryan fucking Bergara to wake up. And feeling miserable about it."

The beeping heart monitor was the only reply he got. 

"God, why can't you just fucking wake up?" Shane glanced over his shoulder in case there was any potential company on its way, before reaching over and lightly slapping Ryan on the side of his face. "Hey. Hey, Ryan. It's, uh, it's the guy who jumped out of a plane and was never found. Quick, open your eyes before I escape forever." Another slap, just a tiny bit harder. "It's me, Ryan! It's the true identity of the Zodiac Killer! Wake up before I get away!"

Nothing. He sat back in his chair, rubbing at his cast. When was the last time he'd worn a cast? It had been a long time since he'd broken anything, really. The plaster was rough under his fingers as he ran them up and down it.

"You're a fucking idiot."

Shane glanced up, his eyes immediately finding Ryan's. "You son of a bitch."

Ryan burst out laughing, the sound quickly turning to a string of curses as it pulled at both his shoulder and his side. "Fucking hell, dude! Jesus Christ, that's _sore_."

"Shh, man, relax." Shane scooched his chair closer, placing his non-casted hand on Ryan's arm. "Do you remember anything?"

"I didn't get shot with an amnesia gun, Shane." Ryan attempted to sit upright, wincing as he did so. " _Hoooooly_ shit. Ow."

"Hey, I literally just told you to relax."

"And I listen to you since when?"

Shane pointed at him. "Since I crashed two cars just to stop you from getting flattened."

Ryan bit back a grin, nodding at him. "I could see you. I was trying to get Helen not to open fire on the van."

"So I guess we saved each other." Shane smiled at him, an openly fond look. "You did good, Ryan. You did really good."

" _You_ did good!"

"We did good." 

Ryan stared at him for a moment, just enjoying the simple fact that neither of them were dead. "Yeah. We did."

Shane shrugged, sitting back in his chair. "Well, perhaps I did a _little_ bit better."

"Shut up, Shane." He nodded at his arm. "What happened?"

"In the crash. Got a little bit fucked up."

"Is everyone else okay? Did Quinta get hurt when you crashed into her?"

"Oh, she's fine. The police van is like a tank. But you won't believe this, Ryan." Shane sat forwards, all eager smiles. "She said she started to think something was up when I wouldn't answer my phone, you see, I kept hanging up instead of letting it ring out. So she sent out a few texts, right? And you know the way the bonfire thingy was on? Yeah, she had shitloads of guys down there checking for underage drinking. So- No wait, listen to this. It's the best bit. So they go wandering off down the beach, and they get to the rocks, and they find-"

"The fucking drugs!" Ryan's eyes widened. "The transport was going on, wasn't it?"

"You got it, man! So they ring in loads of guys - apparently there was a fucking helicopter, Ryan! - and they shut it all down in this dramatic shoot-out."

"God dammit!" Ryan rolled his eyes, letting his head flop back onto the pillow. "I'm so pissed I was unconscious for that."

"Me too, man!" Shane shrugged, gasping slightly as it sent a twinge of pain down his arm. "Ouch. Anyway, when you'd flipped out over the phone thinking I was _lying_ to you or something - no, it's okay - I'd answered Quinta's call and said 'Sunset Cliffs' so she sent all the guys up. Sara and Helen and them arrived first, though, as you know."

"That's insane, dude." Ryan shook his head in amazement. "An actual helicopter? Like in an action movie?"

"Steven likened it to _Die Hard,_ Ryan _. Die Hard!"_

"I am so pissed off I missed it."

"We were both too busy being, uh, knocked out, I guess."

Ryan laughed, smiling at his coworker. "So that's that. We're not lead detectives anymore."

For a split second, Shane looked disappointed, his smile slipping. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, you're right. Oh well."

"Don't look too upset. Only a few days ago you tried to physically fight me."

"Well, I didn't like you back then."

"And... you like me now?"

"I... Yeah. I like you. A lot." Shane laughed, shaking his head. "This is so stupid. I feel like a teenager."

"Well I like you a lot too, Madej."

"Did you call me by my second name to try and be more formal or something?"

"I honestly don't know why I did that. Old habits die hard?"

Shane draped his good arm over the low railing of the bed, gently taking hold of Ryan's hand. "Don't worry about it, Bergara."

Ryan waited for a moment. "Aren't you supposed to kiss me now?"

"I was going to, but then I was like 'maybe that's a bit too cheesy'?"

"I don't _care_ , Shane!"

"Okay, okay, fine! Jeez!"

 

* * *

 

 

Brent and Sara turned away from the window with irritated muttering, reaching into their pockets. Helen and Steven were dancing in circles in front of them like two drunks at a bar, keeping their celebratory whooping to a minimum.

"Two hundred quid! Two hundred quid!" they chanted quietly, waving the fresh money in the air.

"Whatever. You'll both probably blow it all on alcohol anyway." Brent wiped his glasses on his shirt as he spoke. "Because you're both idiots."

"Oh, boo hoo, Brent is upset that he lost money," mocked Steven, pretending to run away fake tears.

"Well it's two hundred dollars!" said Sara exasperatedly. "Like, fuck my life."

"Look, how about this." Helen raised the money. "Bar. All four of us. Many alcohols. Bar fight. Flee the scene. Pass out on beach. Sound good?"

"Sounds amazing."

"I am amazing."

"We deserve it," shrugged Steven as the four of them wandered off down the corridor. "We kicked ass last night. Proper ass."

"Brent was pretty cool the way he kept screaming like a five year old."

"It's called a battle cry, Sara. Look it up."

"I can't believe all that was in the cliffs. It was like a damn _James Bond_ film/"

"Bond ain't got nothing on me, Sara."

"Busted some underage drinkers, busted a cocaine transport ring, and now off to get shit-faced." Steven looped his arms around Sara and Helen's shoulders, swinging between them. "Life is good."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo my next one is gonna be The Terrifying Axeman of New Orleans! Keep an eye out lads and ladies


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